


Spock's Journal

by tguess



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Dubious Consent, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, NSFW Art, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tguess/pseuds/tguess
Summary: Takes place after "Amok Time" - Spock discovers that the blood fever isn't over, and that he wants Kirk for his mate, but Kirk can't accept this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from LadyKardasi and Sahviere, the archivists: this story was originally archived at [Side by Side](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Side_by_Side_\(Star_Trek:_TOS_zine\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. We tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Side by Side’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sidebyside/profile).
> 
> Author's Notes:  
> Beta: Deepest thanks to J S Cavalcante for her great suggestions and editing, and to kira-nerys for the original beta.  
> Credit: Term "chenesi" - Jenna Sinclair's invention.  
> Note: As I tend to make last minute changes after the beta, any errors are all mine.
> 
> This was the first fan fic that I wrote in 2001. I was never completely happy with it, and have rewritten it. (December 2003)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archivist's Note:
> 
> Part (chapter) 1 of Spock's Journal was originally published in Side By Side 2. Illustrations are also by T'Guess.

[**I must control my emotions. This stasis cannot last indefinitely. It is difficult to calculate when I will be stripped of this veneer, the shield of logic and reason that protects us both. He is unusually perceptive for a human and it will take all my remaining strength not to betray my inner discord. I am compelled to meditate again before reporting to duty...**]

*****

James Kirk had begun to notice something peculiar in his first officer’s attitude. Spock’s inscrutable face remained the same, revealing no clue to any problems, but yet...

Kirk couldn’t quite put his finger on it; Spock seemed to hesitate, almost imperceptibly, whenever he approached Jim in regard to his duties. His reports were short and more to the point than usual. Kirk also noted that Spock had been absent in all common areas aboard the Enterprise for the last two days. The Vulcan ate sparingly and left immediately afterwards. He did not remain to play chess or join in conversation. Kirk had even noticed that Spock stiffened slightly whenever Kirk stood too close.

Kirk wondered if he should broach the subject. As close as they were, he respected the Vulcan’s need for privacy. Perhaps it was best to wait a day or two and see what, if anything, would happen.

It wasn’t until into the third day that James Kirk knew something was definitely amiss. He was finishing his second game of chess with Dr. McCoy, who was at best unenthusiastic and at worse a poor sport, when Spock unexpectedly appeared in the doorway of the recreation room. Kirk, bored, restless and anxious for a real challenge, called out, “Mr. Spock! You’ve arrived just in time to rescue me. I’d rather have Rigellian fever than watch Bones sulk over another forfeited Queen.”

“You play with him, Spock, I never enjoyed this stupid game anyway,” McCoy grumbled as he stood up, ready to give his chair to the Vulcan. “Give me a good hand of poker any day!”

Spock remained stationary and clasped his hands behind his back in his familiar stance.

“I am sorry, Captain. I am unable to comply with your request. If you and the doctor will excuse me.”

With that he turned and exited.

“Well, that was short and sweet, even for a Vulcan.” McCoy shrugged his shoulders as he sat down again.

“I wonder what could be bothering him.” Kirk said, eyeing the empty doorway.

“Beats me. I haven’t seen much of him except on duty. His last checkup was superior on all physical and psychological examinations. Mr. Spock is, as usual, in excellent shape. I can run the tests over again.”

Kirk shook his head. “Let me talk with him first. Maybe it’s nothing...”

He didn’t complete the sentence. He was about to say, “nothing serious” but stopped short. He wondered if he overestimated how close he and his first officer really were. A friend, even your best friend, sometimes held back his true feelings, especially if those feelings might end up hurting you. Perhaps that was it. Had he had said or done something that was bothering Spock?

Kirk decided that he would talk to Spock tonight and get to the bottom of it.

*****

[** I dare not disclose the truth if I value Jim’s friendship. There must be a solution and I must endeavor to find it. If there is no resolution then I must...**]

Spock heard the light footsteps in the hall before the access com buzzed.

“Enter.”

The door instantly opened at his voice command to reveal a woman in standard duty uniform, a member of the Science Division, Physics Lab Four. She carried a small personal computer that hung from a strap on her shoulder. Her dark hair was worn up in regulation style and it complemented her pleasant features and petite frame.

Spock completed the last sentence in his journal: [**...resign my commission and leave Starfleet.**]

The woman waited but did not speak until Spock addressed her.

Spock closed the journal and placed it and the pen on the table beside him. Only then did he look up.

“Ensign Bishop.”

“Yes, sir. You requested my information on the Q-12.7 project.”

“Please download the data to my computer.”

Bishop took a seat at Spock’s desk, and inserted her computer into the external dock. She keyed in the sequence and began transferring the information.

While the data downloaded, Ensign Bishop couldn’t help thinking that Mr. Spock could have directly accessed her information through science lab computers. She was unsure why he had sent for her. It was a rare and unexpected honor to be summoned to his personal quarters under any circumstances.

From the moment she had first seen the first officer of the Enterprise, she had felt a powerful attraction. His dark, piercing eyes and exotic features filled her with curiosity...and something more. She had never met a Vulcan before and she was intrigued. The way he moved about the ship—with a kind of alien gracefulness, but always with purpose and confidence—was compelling to watch. He was a study in contradiction: primal yet refined, intense but perplexingly dispassionate, ingenuous although strangely ominous. Each time she saw him, she couldn't help following him with her eyes. Although their paths did not cross often, she was keenly aware of the knot in her stomach whenever she was the focus of his cool, reserved attention.

It was not surprising that other human females aboard the ship felt the same way. She had heard a rumor that Nurse Chapel was in love with Mr. Spock, but that he did not reciprocate her feelings. A few of the women crew had giggled mischievously amongst themselves, wondering what Mr. Spock was like in bed, what secret Vulcan sexual techniques he might possess. It only added to her fantasy about what it would be like to make love with this alien of so many dark mysteries.

For the next few minutes, Spock sat quietly, waiting and observing. She was aware that he was examining her in that detached yet curious way only a Vulcan could do. A few times, she glanced briefly in his direction, hoping for some cordial interaction, but his hooded gaze and stoic silence only made her increasingly nervous.

Trying not to be obvious, Bishop glanced about the room. She could see heavy, exotic pieces of art, sculpture and weaponry that she imagined must be rare Vulcan antiques. Through the screen into the darkness of the sleeping area, she saw the edge of his bed with a tapestry bedcover neatly draped across it. She wondered if Spock ever took a partner into that private sanctuary. Or did he pleasure himself alone, deep in some erotic Vulcan fantasy?

Her hands began to perspire. The room was oppressively warm and scented with a musky incense that was not unpleasant, but surprisingly heady. She glanced again at Spock beneath her lashes, but when he raised a slanted eyebrow in that questioning, self-possessed fashion of his, she found herself blushing, suddenly embarrassed. She wondered if somehow _he_ knew what she was thinking. A Vulcan could mind-meld, read someone’s thoughts, but he required to touch you to do this. Or did he? Now, she wasn’t so sure. She quickly returned her eyes to the computer screen.

“The transfer is complete, Mr. Spock. Is there anything else you require?”

Silence. She assumed he hadn’t heard her, for there was no response. She looked again in his direction and could see that his hands were now locked together, his fingers intertwined. The strong, lean fingers curved outward for a moment, then slowly, carefully folded back into position. “There is some additional research I would like to conduct...with your permission,” he finally replied.

“Of course, Mr. Spock.”

He stood up and walked across the room to stand directly behind her, then leaned over her shoulder to examine the display on the screen. He was so close that she could feel the heat from his breath lightly graze the back of her neck.

“How long have you been assigned to this ship?” he inquired. The velvet, deep tone caressed her ear.

“Three months, sir.”

“Three months, two weeks, four days and twelve hours,” he corrected softly. “Minutes are irrelevant for now.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she found it difficult to focus on the computer screen. “Is there any particular reason for your interest, Mr. Spock?” Then she quickly added, “I mean in how long I’ve been assigned to the Enterprise?”

She turned her head towards him and he met her gaze. At this proximity, his dark eyes were not as black and unfathomable as she had thought. The irises glowed with flecks of golden flame, and within their center, pinpoints of light burnished with an intensity that almost shimmered. Spock wasn’t looking at her, she realized, he was searching inside her as if he could see into the core of a person’s being.

“My interest could be classified as personal rather than professional. I hope that you don’t consider that to be inappropriate.”

“Personal, Mr. Spock?” She suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

“I have observed, that during our interactions, you exhibit certain characteristics of heightened sexual arousal, and that I am the object of this arousal. Am I correct?”

Her eyes widen, and it took her a moment to compose her obvious surprise.

“There is no point in denying I that I find you very attractive and—”

“Then if I may?”

His hand slowly moved to her temple and he brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She could feel the hot fingers delicately sweep it back behind her left ear, pausing to lightly caress the rounded edge. Vulcans, she knew, did not normally initiate touch, especially with humans. What could he be thinking? A delicious shiver ran down her spine, spreading into a warmth that tingled between her thighs. Beneath the uniform, she was becoming wet with excitement.

“Would you disapprove if I continued?”

“Disapprove?” she said with a breathless laugh.

“I am your superior officer, therefore—”

“Therefore nothing. Just kiss me.”

He bent his head and did as she asked. Hot and slightly moist, his mouth tentatively explored the her lips and she willingly yielded to him.

He drew her out of the chair and against him, forcing the breath out of her with a slight exhale. In Spock’s arms, she was aware of just how strong he was. She could feel the powerful muscles under his uniform, and she longed to run her hands under his shirt—to explore his chest, to fondle and tease his nipples, to stroke the chiseled shoulders. She clasped her hands behind his neck and began to probe the velvet viscosity of his mouth with her tongue.

Suddenly, Spock stopped—

His lips became distant.

His body stiffened.

Bishop knew something was terribly wrong.

*****

Kirk grabbed a quick shower, changed into a clean uniform, and left the cabin. As his door slid open, he was startled to find Spock in the corridor, waiting motionless. Kirk was struck with the uneasy impression that Spock had been standing there for some time.

“Mr. Spock, I was just on my way to your quarters,” Kirk flashed a bright smile.

“Indeed, Captain. I too wished to talk although I hesitated to disturb you.”

“What disturbs me is that you seem preoccupied lately. Come in.”

With that, Kirk turned back into his cabin, took a seat at his desk, and waved an arm invitingly for Spock to sit in the opposite chair. His second-in-command followed him into the room, but remained on his feet.

"Thank you, Captain, but I prefer to stand.”

Kirk slowly rose. This wasn’t like Spock at all.

“Well, Mr. Spock...?”

“I am officially requesting shore leave on Vulcan. Our current course will take us to the space colony G’trua where I can disembark and secure the appropriate transportation to my home planet.”

“I see,” Kirk said. He didn’t see at all. He studied Spock’s long face and angular features. Although most humans couldn’t see the nuances of Vulcan expressions, Kirk, from experience, could read the tiny signs of tension that Vulcans sometimes gave off, but Spock only projected his usual calm stillness.

“Why the sudden request?”

“It is not sudden, Captain. I have been contemplating my request for some weeks, although it may seem precipitous to you. My records indicate that I have accumulated eleven calendar months of leave from active duty...”

“I know you have plenty of time owing, but that’s not the point. Why Vulcan? Why now?”

Much to Kirk’s irritation, Spock ignored the questions and continued in that deep, even tone of his. “Starfleet guidelines permit me to request leave within two weeks of...”

Kirk interrupted, his tone brisk, “I’m fully aware of _all_ guidelines and regulations aboard this ship, but that’s not the question. All right, let’s have it. I want a reason.“

Kirk softened his voice. Getting aggravated wasn’t going to help. He tried a different tack.

“Is there is a problem, something of a personal nature…?” Kirk rounded the desk and took a few steps towards Spock, but Spock, to Kirk’s amazement, moved further away.

“I...” Spock faltered for a split second, then continued in a composed tone, “I am requesting leave from my superior officer in compliance with Starfleet regulations. I wish to return to Vulcan as soon as possible and until those arrangements can be made, I also request that you relieve me of duty. Do I have your permission, sir?”

Kirk stared hard at Spock trying to read something, anything behind that blank face. But the Vulcan revealed nothing. No clue could be found in the darkness of his eyes, the slant of his brows, or the flat line of his lips.

“I’ll consider it. Until I notify you of my decision, you may remain in your quarters.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

With that, Spock exited the room. As soon as the doors shut, Kirk immediately went to his intercom and buzzed McCoy.

“McCoy, Kirk here. Come to my quarters right away.”

*****

“Could Spock be entering pon farr again?”

Kirk finished pouring a brandy for the doctor and handed it to McCoy, then began to pour one for himself.

“It’s only been a year, Jim. The Vulcan mating cycle is approximately every seven years, so we’re in the clear before we have to go though *that* again.”

*That* again. Yes, Kirk could vividly recall Spock's illogical behavior and the battle to the death on Vulcan that had almost killed him.

Kirk resumed his seat, warmed the snifter in his hands and allowed a mouthful of golden liquid to slide down his throat, easing his tension away.

“Perhaps...” Bones took a long slip of his drink and thought for a moment.

“Perhaps what?”

“Perhaps this is related to Spock’s blood chemistry. Our first officer has to contend with two distinctly different sexual hormones. As he is a hybrid of human and Vulcan, there is very little research to determine how they may combine and interact in the body. Individually, they are both strong regulators of both social and sexual behavior. If he is experiencing a conflict, then the combined effect of these hormones could be causing problems.”

“I thought you ran hormone tests on him.”

“We did two baseline readings—one when he returned from the koon-ut-kal-if-fee and another five months ago. Everything indicated that his levels were elevated, but within normal range for a Vulcan. I’ll schedule additional blood work.”

“Run the tests as soon as possible. If he is experiencing a hormonal imbalance—is there anything you can do to stabilize it before it may possibly set off pon farr?”

“You’re suggesting a dose of saltpeter?” McCoy shook his head. “Not effective on Vulcans, I’m afraid. There’s nothing that can stop the madness once it has begun."

“You know, I’ve been wondering. Is sex always so extreme with Vulcans?”

“No, at least not from what I’ve read. Vulcans can and do have sex between periods of pon farr, although not frequently. When they are not in plak tow, Vulcan sexual intercourse is much less dangerous, but it would still be considered to be harsh by human standards. What's interesting is that it is only during plak tow that conception can take place.”

“Why?”

“Vulcan males have a pair of glands just below their kidneys called 'chenesi.' They’re similar to human testicles; the sperm are created there. The glands are dormant until pon farr, then they swell quite significantly. It is only then that the sperm becomes active.”

“That explains something odd that happened once,” Kirk interjected. “I had to grab Spock around the back during a skirmish with a group of Klingons, and he reacted like he was going to jump out of his skin. I thought it was just the surprise of a pretty good tackle.”

“Right. Imagine someone clutching your testicles when you weren’t expecting it.”

“That’s just great—so I grabbed Spock by the balls.” Kirk sighed, suddenly self-conscious about his ignorance of Vulcan physiology. He had always assumed that humans and Vulcans were similar in _that_ area and had never given it any thought. He knew, of course, that Vulcans had pointed ears and green blood and that the Vulcan heart was situated where a human’s liver would be, but the size, shape, and location of their sexual organs was a mystery.

Looking up and seeing Bones with a bemused grin on his face, Kirk quipped, “Is his dick where it’s supposed to be?” He was trying to be droll and didn’t expect an answer.

“You’ve never seen him?” McCoy was surprised. As a physician he, of course, had examined every inch of Spock and had assumed that Kirk had had the opportunity to at least see Spock urinate on occasion.

“No,” Kirk replied. “I don’t usually order my officers to drop their pants if I can avoid it.”

McCoy choked back a laugh, then said, “Well, it’s certainly a sight to behold.”

“Is that so?” Kirk couldn’t help but be curious.

“It’s quite impressive, Jim. Within normal human size when flaccid, the penis almost doubles in length and width when erect. The volume of blood in the tissue is much higher than in a human due to Vulcans having an extra Corpora Cavernosa chamber. There is also the rather handy feature of self-lubrication courtesy of two glands inside the scrotum. When sufficiently aroused, they discharge a viscous fluid that facilitates penetration. It’s the male of the species that produces the necessary lubrication, not the female.”

“One’s own personal supply of ‘Astroglide’—that would be convenient,” Kirk added, grinning. “Is there anything else that is different?”

“No, not really…” McCoy lazily swirled the brandy in his glass a little too nonchalantly, then added, “Except that the glans-head has two ridges.”

“A double-ridged head?” Kirk fell back into his chair in amazement. “What in the world would that be for?”

“As Vulcan sperm is such a valuable commodity, the theory is that the ridges prevent seepage, somewhat like dogs on Earth.

“Dogs?”

“You know about dogs—how they sometimes stay _locked_ during sex —well the same applies to Vulcans. During intercourse, the two ridges swell tremendously to form a tight seal, and it can take a considerable amount of time before the partners can actually separate.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” The vision of Spock _locked_ with a woman during copulation sent a shiver through Kirk, although he wasn’t sure why. “Why are the chenesi inactive until pon farr?”

“As you know, the environment on Vulcan is extremely harsh, mostly deserts and volcanoes. But approximately every six to eight years, small areas become lush and green with great yields in agriculture due to rain high in the mountains. It seems that the Vulcans, over millions of years of evolution, have biologically adapted themselves to producing children only when the climatic conditions are favorable to the survival of many offspring. That is the reason why pon farr is such a strong, undeniable force. If the opportunity to breed isn’t acted upon quickly and frequently when it occurs, then the chance to reproduce the species has been lost for another seven years. I had originally thought it was merely an outlet for the repression of emotion. That certainly could be one component, perhaps there are others... we just don’t know.”

Both were quiet for a moment, then Kirk rubbed his chin and leaned forward.

“I was just thinking...how do you think Amanda survives it with Sarek? Vulcan females can control pain with their minds, but a much weaker human woman...”

“Perhaps she takes a vacation every seven years and gets the hell off the planet,” Bones chuckled, then he pondered the question more seriously. “It’s an interesting question, Jim, obviously she survives, somehow. They’ve been married for 40 Earth years, so she has remained with Sarek through at least five of his pon farrs.”

Kirk, lost in thought, did not reply.

“One more drink for the road, then I’ll go and talk with Mr. Spock. If he and I are going to get into details about his sex life, I prefer not to be too sober,” McCoy half-joked.

*****

[**I hurt him, which was not my intent. I could see the look of concern and confusion in his eyes when I stated I must leave the Enterprise. The thought of leaving him is most disturbing to me, but there was, regrettably, no alternative. The truth would be as difficult to hear as it would be to tell.**]

He heard the heavy, familiar footsteps approaching his room. The door buzzed, and he responded, “A moment please.”

Spock closed the journal and tucked it into an alcove beside his computer. “Enter.”

The door hissed open.

Dr. McCoy walked in to find the room in darkness except for a small reading light over the desk. He squinted, finally making out the solitary figure at the computer—Spock, silhouetted amidst shadows.

“Turning into a vampire, Spock? Or can we turn up the lights?”

“Dark thoughts are best hidden in dark places.” The Vulcan's voice was, as usual, without emotion, but the words disturbed McCoy nonetheless. Spock said, “Side light on fifty percent” and instantly the room was illuminated in a pale emerald haze. The green glow against the pallor of his skin made the Vulcan seem even more alien. Spock stood up, and clasped his hands behind his back, but did not move. He also did not ask the doctor to sit down.

“I do not require the services of a physician.” The Vulcan’s eyes were hooded, guarded, but a pinprick of intense light emanated from their dark depths.

“The captain is concerned about you. I am, too.”

Spock didn’t respond. Silence hung in the air, as thick as the pungent incense that swirled from the tripod in the corner.

“I said Jim is concerned about you,” McCoy reiterated.

“I am not hard of hearing, Doctor, nor are the acoustics in this room inadequate. I heard you the first time.”

Spock always found some way to annoy him, Bones thought, but he decided against a sarcastic retort. “I need you to report to the blood lab at fourteen hundred hours tomorrow for some tests of your hormone levels.”

“Indeed?” Spock slowly cocked an eyebrow. “Duplicating the tests are unnecessary. I have myself already performed them. I will forward you a copy for your medical files.”

“Oh? Well, speak up. What are the results? I’m not getting any younger waiting for your answers.”

“The results are what I expected and what you, I assume, have already surmised.”

Spock turned, and walked towards the entrance of the sleeping area, but stopped at the threshold.

He remained quiet for a long moment, seemly lost in thought, then he pivoted to face McCoy again.

“Being both human and Vulcan has been...” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “...arduous at times. I am, in essence, an experiment in genetic manipulation.

“As you are aware, my gestation was complex and difficult, facilitated by the finest genetic scientists at the Vulcan Science Academy. My parents were in agreement that my genetic makeup should be significantly more Vulcan than Terran. With no disrespect to my mother or her kin, the Vulcan body is stronger and more resilient, and the Vulcan mind is more highly developed, especially in the area of telepathy.”

McCoy made a sound of protest, but Spock raised a silencing hand.

“Since they also agreed to raise me on Vulcan as Vulcan, Sarek and Amanda’s decision was logical. That said, it is also a fact that I am influenced by what Terran genes I do possess. The conflict is marked in two areas: emotional response and sexual response.”

“From the Vulcan sex glands, I am inundated with the hormone ‘I’h-riq’, from the Terran, ‘testosterone’. Both of these sex hormones control my level of desire and regulate sexual frequency, stamina, potency, and perhaps even my sexual orientation.” He paused again, then added an adamant. “I am, of course, referring to mate selection.”

McCoy, watching Spock’s face, witnessed a brief flash of intense concentration. The Vulcan restraint held fast, but McCoy noticed that Spock also clasped his hands behind his back, a pose the Vulcan often took when confronted with a difficult situation.

“Go on,” McCoy said softly.

“Combined, these hormones trigger an unusually strong desire for physical union.”

"Are you telling me that you're horny, Mr. Spock?"

Spock shot the CMO a quick glance. He was fully aware of meaning of the human vernacular _horny_.

“I prefer the term 'overstimulated'.”

“So that’s why you want to return to Vulcan—to find a mate?”

“I do not seek a mate on Vulcan.”

“Then why Vulcan?”

McCoy was well aware that Spock seemed to be wrestling with his thoughts. When the first officer slid one his hands from behind his back and let it drop to his side, McCoy could see by the swollen veins just beneath the skin that Spock had been clenching it tightly.

“When I returned to the ship after the kalifee, I was convinced that the blood fever was gone...and for a while, it was. Three months ago, I became aware that I was becoming increasingly restless and agitated. I suspected the cause, which I confirmed with the appropriate blood tests. During my pon farr a year ago, the extreme level of Vulcan hormones stimulated the regulatory glands, activating the repressed human hormones. Why the process took eight months before becoming symptomatic I do not know.”

“Fortunately, the infrequency and minimal intensity of the symptoms allowed me to control the effects successfully. But I do not know how long I can continue suppressing them. Within the last month, I have noted a marked rise in their duration and strength.”

Spock took a deep breath and continued; “There is one important component of my current predicament that you will not find in my blood analysis. It has become clear that since the ordeal of kalifee, what stimulates me has altered.”

McCoy couldn’t quite grasp Spock’s meaning. “Stimulates—as in ‘arouses’?”

“Correct. What I _desire_ has changed,” Spock clarified.

“In what way?”

“In a way that I would have not have chosen had the choice been mine. Wishing otherwise does not alter the fact that I am now exclusively attracted to and sexually responsive to humans. I have lost all urge, any need, for union with a Vulcan.”

“Well, don’t be so hard on yourself, Spock; after all, you are half-human. As I recall, you’ve been involved sexually with at least one human female that I’m aware of...on the planet Omicron Ceti III...”

Spock cut him short.

“I am well aware that I have responded sexually to human females in the past. Therefore it was necessary to conduct more research in this area to determine if my supposition was correct.”

“What supposition?”

“This evening I had the opportunity to join sexually with a human female, but I was unable to reach the level of stimulation required for congress.”

“Spock, it happens to the best of us!” McCoy protested. “Can’t hit a home-run every time...”

Spock’s features hardened, and he crossed his arms. It was obvious that his patience was running out and he wanted to conclude this discussion as soon as possible.

“Perhaps I am not making myself understood, Doctor. I shall be succinct. I no longer respond to human females, but to human males. Therefore, I am now regrettably, quite unable to perform with females of either species.”

McCoy blinked twice and feared that his expression might betray his shock and surprise.

Spock—a homosexual. A homosexual who wanted a human mate? Well, if that didn’t beat all, McCoy thought. Even after everything they had gone through, Spock could still come up with an unexpected twist.

“Well, there is nothing wrong with being homosexual and you are half-human, so in a way, your new orientation still seems within the realm of logic. I know from what I’ve read in my medical journals that on Vulcan certain types of homosexuality are practiced and accepted, and as a group, homosexuals are well enough represented among the Enterprise crew.”

McCoy smiled at Spock with his kindest, country-doctor grin.

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about if your partner reciprocates your feelings. But why haven’t you told Jim? He’s not homophobic, and—”

“Jim?” Spock spoke his name for the first time in the conversation, and yet there was something in the way he said it that made McCoy uneasy.

The Vulcan continued, his flat tone giving little suggestion of any discord within. “Unfortunately, I cannot find it within myself to tell him because it is James T. Kirk, my captain and my friend…whom I desire.”

*****

The door signal jolted Kirk out of a deep sleep. He glanced at the chronometer. 0500. Damn. It was either very, very late or very, very early depending on how you looked at it. He had to be up in an hour. He rolled over and grunted, “Enter.” McCoy walked in.

“This had better be good, Bones...” Kirk grumbled as he sat up in bed, still half-asleep.

“I’ve been up all night talking with Spock. There’s something you should know.”

Kirk was wide-awake now, adrenaline coursing in his veins. He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. “Shoot.”

“It’s gonna feel like a kick in the guts.”

“What is it?”

“Jim, Spock does need a mate, though it isn’t life or death, this time. But the mate he wants…there’s no easy way to say this…”

“Come on, Bones!”

“Jim, he wants _you_.”

Kirk couldn’t quite grasp what Bones was saying. “You can’t be serious.”

“He wants you for his t'hy'la, or whatever the damn Vulcan word for it is—”

“T’hy’la? What the hell is that?”

“Friend-lover-lifelong companion. Seems all those tight jams you two have gotten yourselves into has made him bond with you in every way—intellectually, psychologically, dare I say _emotionally_ , and now he wants to join with you physically.”

Kirk could hardly get the words out, “Physically? You mean sex?”

“I actually feel a little jealous. I’m always a bridesmaid, never the bride...”

“This is no joking matter.”

“It’s no joke to Spock.”

“Explain?”

“He’s run the blood tests on himself. They confirm that the combination of human and Vulcan hormones in his system are making him highly aroused on a regular basis. They aren’t as overwhelming as those of pon farr, but they are becoming harder to control. He has focused these desires on you.”

“Spock is gay?”

“He hasn’t sought out or had any homosexual encounters, so I personally doubt that he is gay in the traditional sense. Rather he is in love with you, or whatever the equivalent of love is to a Vulcan. He wants _you_ , and you happen to be male. You are also his captain and friend, and this puts him in an unpleasant position. So he has decided the only solution is to distance himself from you, leave the Enterprise as soon as possible, and return to Vulcan.”

McCoy paused, then cleared his throat.

“That is, unless you have similar feelings for Spock.”

“Damn it, Bones, you know me,” Kirk protested. “I’ve shagged every female from here to Aldebaran—green, purple, no arms, four arms, even two at time—but they’ve all been women! I’ve never even thought about being with a man.”

“Well, there was that creature on Hericip-9, and I’m not sure if you knew exactly what sex it was, but you were very drunk and it’s beside the point.”

Turning abruptly, Kirk walked across the room and started to pour himself two fingers of Scotch, then remembered he was on duty in less than an hour and pushed the glass aside.

“Now is your opportunity to think about it,” McCoy pressed. “Spock is prepared to leave Starfleet permanently. It’s too physically and emotionally painful for him to remain, working with you day by day in close contact.”

McCoy slumped into a nearby chair and exhaled a deep breath.

“It’s not the poor bastard’s fault, Jim, and there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it. You’ll have to weigh losing him against whatever feelings you might have for him.”

Kirk spun around. “Screw my first officer or lose him? That’s the choice?!”

“Better your choice than mine. I’m getting too old to switch teams. It’s enough that I can step up to the plate now and then,” McCoy quipped to lighten the situation.

Kirk sat down on the bed and shook his head. To be with a man, be with Spock in _that_ way or lose him forever? It was madness. Spock his friend—yes, always. But Spock—his lover? Impossible.

His first instinct was to immediately order Spock to his quarters and set him straight. There would be no sexual relationship between them, not in a million years. Could Spock really be serious about leaving Starfleet permanently?

Kirk looked at McCoy helplessly. His life was about to change forever. And there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to prevent it.

*****

[** He has his answers. He knows. Truth, it is said, cuts both ways. Now I bleed, for I know he bleeds. Parted and never parted even in our pain. I had hoped to spare him this. Forgive me. Forgive. **]

Kirk wrestled with his feelings all that day and the next, back and forth, until his head was pounding. With any other problem but this one, he would turn to Spock, talk to him, and find comfort in Spock’s logic.

But instead he was alone in his agony. Finally, he realized that Spock must be feeling the same isolation, the same agony.

One thing Kirk was sure of. Spock had to be told that if he needed a sexual partner, Kirk wasn’t the one. There had to be an alternative.

He knew what he had to do.

Outside the first officer's quarters, Kirk took a deep breath and buzzed the intercom.

“Enter,” came the familiar tone of the Vulcan’s voice. The door hissed open.

Spock, seated in a chair, immediately began to stand. Kirk signaled “at ease” with a wave of his hand, and Spock slowly sat back down and averted his eyes. Kirk realized that Spock was still in uniform, although it had been 36 hours since he had reported to the bridge. He also noted that Spock’s shoulders slumped a little more than normal.

Kirk had a million things to say, a million things to ask, but found that now, here, with _him_ , the words stuck in his throat. Spock eventually rescued him from his embarrassment and the awkward silence by beginning first.

“I appreciate your visit, Captain. I understand that Dr. McCoy has explained the situation, and I am sorry for any distress it may have caused you. I would have preferred to keep you unaware of my current...” Spock paused for the correct word... “predicament.”

Kirk cleared his throat, “I understand how hard this must be on you—it's hard on both of us. I’m not sure how to handle this. The rule books don’t say anything about how to respond to a proposition from your first officer.”

Kirk sensed that the Vulcan had flinched. As soon as the words left his mouth, he was annoyed at himself. He had sounded flippant and disrespectful, as if he was making fun at Spock’s expense, and he didn’t want to do that.

“Spock, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound—”

He couldn’t finish. Spock looked up, meeting Jim’s eyes with a direct gaze that startled them both. Staring into each other’s eyes somehow seemed too familiar, too personal, now. And yet, they had looked at each other exactly that way a thousand times before.

Kirk glanced away. His gaze fell upon the open doorway that led to the sleeping area, and he quickly found himself searching for any object that was neutral ground and didn’t suggest the image of being with _him_ , with _Spock_ , _in that bed_.

“McCoy provided me with some material on Vulcan sexual practices...well, at least the little that humans know about them.”

Spock neatly folded his hands in his lap. “What humans don’t know about Vulcans could fill the entire Starfleet library.”

Spock’s words were measured and deliberate, but Kirk heard the subtext clearly. He had very little idea of what sex with a Vulcan would actually be like.

The knot in the pit of his stomach worsened.

The increase in his tension was not lost on Spock. “If you find my presence or this discussion too uncomfortable, I will understand if you wish to leave.”

There was no avoiding it, Kirk thought. The time had come for total honesty between them.

He turned, walked over to the chair beside Spock’s and sat down.

“I don’t want to lose you, as a friend or as an officer,” Kirk finally said. “But I just don’t know if I’m capable of making love to another man, even if that man is you. It’s not that you’re unattractive, not that I’m a sexual prude...but if we were to start something and I ended up not being able to go through with it and rejected you, I couldn’t stand it. I honestly couldn’t bear to hurt you or put you through more pain than you are enduring now.”

“Jim,” Spock said softly, “I appreciate your candor. I accept the possibility that this may be something you are unable or unwilling to do.”

“You want me to be your…what was the word Bones used, ‘t'hy'la’?”

“Yes.”

Kirk paused for a moment, “It means ‘partner and lover’, right?”

“Correct. The formal title for this type of relationship is ‘Adun t’shu falkta’.”

“Adum?”

“Adun,” Spock corrected. “Life consort.”

“...T’shoe...falk...taaa?” Kirk struggled with the Vulcan phrase.

“T’shu falkta—roughly translated, it means “by free choice.”

“T’Pring wasn’t your choice, was she?”

“No, although that bond no longer exists, freeing me to choose my own consort.” Spock paused, waiting for a question or response, but as Jim remained silent, he continued; “As you are aware, Vulcan tradition dictates that a mate of the opposite sex is selected by the parents and approved by the council. It is for marriage and the procreation of children. T’Pring and I were not permitted any say in the arrangement of our betrothal.”

“But now, you have a preference men in general…and for me in particular?” Kirk's voice had taken on an edge.

“ _Preference_ suggests a predilection which can be changed at will, which does not apply…and there is only one man that I desire.”

“That’s quite a compliment,” Kirk said, feeling both flattered and flustered at the same time. He quickly redirected the focus to more neutral ground, “Are partners of the same sex allowed to bond on Vulcan?”

“Male-to-male bonding is not unknown to Vulcans,” Spock replied as evenly, as if he were simply giving a biology lecture. “The practice dates back to our prehistory when the warriors class left their women and engaged in battles for long periods of time. Homosexual unions were logical and necessary during pon farr. Same-sex bonds are as enduring and close as heterosexual bonds. The two may either be exclusive or concurrent, permitting the male also to have sexual relations with a woman if he desires children. Of course, physical union with his t’hy’la—is an important…” He immediately clarified so their would be no misunderstanding, “... a _necessary_ component.”

“I appreciate your frankness. I know that Vulcans do not speak of such things, even amongst themselves.”

“The reticence of Vulcans to discuss any sexual matters is, as you would say, ‘a colossal understatement.’ Even now I find discussion of the subject most unpleasant.”

Kirk was sure he did and he felt a twinge of guilt for asking Spock so many personal questions.

“So either I agree to be your 't'hy'la' or you’ll resign your commission and return to Vulcan.”

“Yes.”

Kirk straightened stiffly in his chair.

“What about your duty to the ship and to Starfleet?” Jim’s voice began to rise, frustration and fear at losing Spock at the core of his response. ”There has to be an alternative.”

Spock leaned slightly forward, and spoke with a chilling calm. “I will accept whatever decision you make. But if we cannot be bondmates and you order me to stay aboard this ship, the fact is, I shall in a short time be incapable of performing my duty. I am now convinced that it is only a matter of time before I relapse into plak tow. I do not believe that a detailed account of what could happen is necessary. I need only remind you of what transpired on Vulcan a year ago and my state of mind at the time.”

Kirk averted his eyes as he wiped a beat of perspiration from his upper lip. This was much more serious than Bones had indicated. Either Spock hadn’t been entirely forthcoming with the doctor, or his condition had worsened over the last 36 hours. His Vulcan friend was right—there were only two options.

When he looked into Spock’s eyes again, he realized that they held a strange, engaging, almost sexual intensity that he hadn’t really noticed before. He tried to push the thought out of his mind, but it kept creeping back, forcing him to look at his friend as he had never looked at him before.

Kirk found himself examining the high cheekbones; the strong, regal nose; the black, glossy hair; the elegant sweep of the slanted eyebrows; and the curve of the ears, which crested in a devilish point.

But it was Spock’s even gaze that drew Kirk in; the hooded, almond-shaped lids and the fringe of lashes that shielded those dark eyes. Spock’s eyes were so enigmatic that they reminded Kirk of the bottomless subterranean pools of Istmaya. Kirk couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to see those eyes in the heat of passion. Did they widen in pleasure when Spock climaxed, or did he clench them shut?

Suddenly Kirk became keenly aware that his heart was beating faster and he felt flushed. But that didn’t startle him as much as what he was seriously considering: agreeing to only solution that would keep Spock with him.

Kirk leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice, “If we were to become lovers, I have no idea what it would be like. And quite frankly, I fear the actual ‘act’. It may be much more violent and painful than anything I’ve experienced.”

“It does not need to be...painful.” Spock chose his words carefully. “Even in the depths of pon farr, there are techniques that should help facilitate a physical union between us without hurting you or damage to myself. Will you accept that what I propose will not harm you?”

The silence between them only last for a moment, and yet it seemed like an eternity.

“I trust you, Spock, but—”

“But you still fear what you do not know,” Spock finished.

“Yes.”

“How can you know unless you experience it for yourself?”

It was a damn good question, but Kirk found no answer. He wondered how he could so quickly reject something he had never tried. Wasn’t he, as captain, always quoting the phrase, “Experience is the best teacher”?

Their breathing was the only sound in the room, each unsure what to say or do next.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Spock took it upon himself to make the next overture. Only this time, Spock lowered his carefully constructed shields.

Spock slowly leaned forward, closing the distance between them. His angular features seemed to soften, and the piercing eyes relaxed, becoming warm and engaging. At this proximity, Kirk could clearly see that Spock’s complexion was slightly flushed, that the vein in his neck was more pronounced—blood pulsing hard against his neck—and that his breathing was growing more rapid. Whether purposely or unconsciously, Spock slightly parted his lips—and didn’t close them.

Kirk was amazed to discover that Spock’s body language projected a strange mixture of submissiveness and assertiveness; the ability to both yield and take control at the same time. In fact, Kirk thought that Spock’s entire being seemed to radiate a sensual, erotic luminosity. The reserved Vulcan with his matter-of-fact responses had disappeared; replaced by an ardent seducer—one with an open invitation that was impossible to ignore.

Kirk found himself mesmerized by the change. Over the years, he had come to know Spock’s disposition: when he was intensely focused, preoccupied, concerned, amused, tense, annoyed, withdrawn, and even angry. But Kirk had never witness this side of Spock or seen such a seductive, come-hither look from his Vulcan friend.

It was startling. It was unnerving. It was…fascinating.

Kirk could do nothing but stare at the friend he thought he knew so well, but obvious didn’t.

“Jim,” Spock said, his voice slightly more throaty than normal. The deeper baritone inflection of his name washed over Kirk like liquid silk.

Kirk swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“You have not answered my question.”

“I know.” Kirk swallowed again, unable to take his eyes off Spock’s lips, which were looking more desirable by the second.

“Jim,” Spock asked again, this time deliberating wetting his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah,” Kirk finally replied, still staring at the tiny trail of gleaming moisture left on the rose-tinted skin.

"Your fear is unjustified. If given the opportunity, I believe that I can make the experience…quite pleasurable.”

Kirk glanced away, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could feel tiny beads of perspiration run down his spine, and his shirt was sticking to his back. “Could you turn down the room temperature a bit—it’s awfully hot in here.”

“Jim, it is 21 degrees Celsius. I reset the thermostat when you arrived. But if you wish—”

“No, forget it.” Kirk hastily replied. “I haven’t cooled down from my workout earlier. My metabolism must still be on overdrive.”

Spock tilted his head, and after an inordinately lengthy pause, simply said, “Indeed?”

Kirk inwardly cringed. His excuse was less than stellar, blurted out without much thought. To avoid what he perceived as Spock’s annoyingly smug stare, he redirected the subject as quickly as possible.

“Vulcan don’t perspire, do they?”

“Rarely, and only under specific circumstances.”

Kirk resisted the urge to ask ‘what’ circumstances, figuring it must involve sex. As he tried to envision what a glistening Vulcan would look like in the throes of passion, he suddenly became aware of something he hadn’t noticed before.

“Spock,” Kirk said, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Yes.”

“Are you wearing cologne?”

“No.”

No, of course not, Kirk realized. Vulcans did not wear cologne. Then what was that enticing scent? It was clean and fresh, a waft of vanilla mixed with hint of sandalwood—or was it musk?

Kirk took another deep breath, savoring the fragrance, then pointedly glanced at Spock. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of the Vulcan’s mouth, but Spock’s eyes were languid; the blue lids almost obscuring the pools of black velvet that lay beneath.

Spock’s hand rose from his lap as if it had a will of its own, lingered in the air for a moment, then reached towards Kirk.

Waiting to see what would happen, Kirk wondered if Spock was going to initiate a mind-meld. No, on second thought, it seemed unlikely. Spock would not attempt one without first requesting permission.

Spock held his hand in front of Kirk’s face, just a millimeter from his skin. His graceful fingers came precariously close to the side of Jim’s cheek, passing in front of his lips and moving up to his eyes. Not once did Spock actually touch him, but the hairs on Kirk’s face and the back of his neck tingled as the long, elegant fingers passed by. The sensation was so extraordinary that he began to feel strangely, yet pleasantly, disoriented.

//What is Spock up to? Is this some form of Vulcan seduction?// he pondered. But Kirk knew that he could put a stop to it instantly with a single word…if he wanted to.

Radiant heat emanated from Spock’s hand as it slowly swept down in front of Kirk’s neck, his shoulder, his arm, until it finally came to rest, settling lightly on Kirk’s left hand. Then Spock’s fingers began to trace feather-light patterns on his skin, circles that widened, and widened, and then closed in again. Spock advanced the circles delicately along the top of Jim’s fingers. His silky-smooth movements continued in that mesmerizing pattern, stopping only to start again. The circles moved softly to Kirk’s palm. Kirk’s eyelids grew heavy, his breathing deepened and slowed. Was Spock trying to hypnotize him? No, he told himself, there were more effective ways to induce an altered state of consciousness; Spock would know that.

Kirk blinked once, twice, then finally allowed his eyes to close. There was no point in fighting something that felt so good. He had rarely felt so serene. It was like floating on a cloud… a few seconds more wouldn’t hurt.

The soothing stroking continued until somehow Kirk became aware that Spock's mouth had gently brushed his lips. The whisper of sensation was quickly withdrawn. After a long moment, Spock’s lips touched lightly again and withdrew. The Vulcan’s breath was hot and remarkably sweet, reminding Kirk of fresh apricots and cream. Once more, Spock’s lips found his, but this time, the Vulcan began to gently probe and taste and explore Kirk’s mouth. The soulful kiss sent a delicious shiver down Kirk’s spine.

A sudden familiar sound. Panic—

Spock jerked his head back to stare at the door.

The door access com buzzed again.

Kirk immediately jumped up, and wiped his mouth. He glanced at Spock, who was now also on his feet.

Spock straightened his shirt, and said, “Enter.”

The door slid open. Ensign Bishop stood waiting.

“Have that report to me by 13:00 hours, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said. He nodded at Ensign Bishop.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I’ll speak to Mr. Spock another time?”

“No need, I was just leaving,” the captain answered briskly. “If both of you will excuse me.”

Kirk was out the door before either could reply.

*****

It wasn’t until Kirk was in the corridor that he realized that his pants were uncomfortably tight.

That another male could have this affect shocked him—this wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

Had Bishop noticed? Had Spock? He quickly made his way to the sanctuary of his quarters; grateful he didn’t pass anyone who might have noticed the rock hard bulge pressing against his thigh.

*****

“Mr. Spock, I’m sorry, but I had to come,” Bishop said. “I-I would like...I came to ask for a second chance.” She took a step towards him, but he put up his hand to forestall her approach. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood motionless.

“Ensign,” Spock said respectfully, “I have already apologized for my behavior the other evening. I thought you understood and accepted that what happened was an error in judgment on my part.”

“But I wanted you to touch me, for us to—”

“I am truly sorry. It would be futile for us to protest against our natures. I cannot give you what you need,” was all he could say.

Bishop stood fixed to the spot for a moment, hopelessly disappointed, then without another word, she turned and fled.

*****

[**He will not come to me again. I know he will avoid meeting me in private. He will rationalize what happened between us, and attempt to justify it as a mistake that transpired only in the heat of the moment. He is a master of self-deception, a most human quality that I find illogical. If only we had not been interrupted, I believe he would have found the answer to his question.**]

Spock finished the entry in his journal, put it away, then disrobed. As he walked towards the shower, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He took in his image with detached familiarity, then noticed that the end of his penis was excreting a jellylike fluid, an unmistakable sign that he was becoming aroused again.

// If only Jim could comprehend. I must remove his fear and doubt to permit him to make a qualified and informed decision. I owe Jim that opportunity, regardless of the outcome…//

*****

Kirk stretched stiffly, ignoring the curious glances from a few of his crew who passed him in the corridor.

It had been a long, hard day. It wasn’t so much his duties that had tired him, but his turbulent emotions. Kirk realized he had come shockingly close to crossing the line, to throwing away ‘who’ he thought he was—a captain of a starship that did not fraternize with the crew under any circumstances, and a confirmed heterosexual.

He had always enjoyed having sex with women, and had adamantly turned down one or two propositions from men who had found him attractive. Granted, he was particularly fond of anal intercourse if the woman was into it. Entering through the back door felt incredibly nice and tight, and always seemed a bit naughty, which only added to the thrill. He also enjoyed the feeling of a finger or dildo stretching his ass, but a lot of heterosexual men enjoyed that, didn’t they? It didn’t mean you were secretly gay or that you had homoerotic feelings, it just felt good, that’s all.

And yet…Spock’s caresses had felt good too. Too damn good in fact, and a part of him wanted to return to Spock’s quarters. It had been a long time since he had reacted so strongly to a simple kiss. Even now, he could recall the taste and the sensual sweetness of Vulcan heat pressed against his lips.

He wondered what it would feel like to explore that amazing warmth—to experience that passion that he knew Spock was capable of…

// Stop it! // he told himself, alarmed by the direction of his thoughts. Just _thinking_ about Spock in that way was bad enough. Until he could block the disturbing fantasies in his mind, he knew he had to avoid seeing him. He trusted Spock, but that wasn’t the issue. He wasn’t sure how far he trusted himself.

Kirk rounded the corner and stopped at the door to his cabin.

“James T. Kirk”, he stated.

“Voice recognition accepted,” replied the computer. The door unlocked and hissed open. He entered his quarters and the door closed behind him. Alone at last - what a relief.

“Jim.”

Kirk spun around—

Spock was sitting in a chair in the sleeping area.

“How the hell did you get access to my cabin?” Kirk had taken the precaution of activating a rarely used secure measure to keep Spock from entering unless summoned on ship’s business.

Spock’s eyebrow arched up in response.

Kirk immediately realized how ridiculous the question sounded. There wasn’t a door aboard that Spock couldn’t walk through if he chose to do it.

“Why are you here?” Kirk asked warily, conscious of the overwhelming sexual tension in the air that seemed to almost vibrate.

Spock slowly stood up. “To provide you with the answer to your question.”

“What question?”

A flash of blue, rapid and swift—

—and Kirk found himself backed up against the wall before he realized that Spock had moved. Spock’s lips came down hard on his.

Stunned, he pushed back against iron muscle, but he could more easily have moved a brick wall.

“Are you out of your Vulcan mind?” Kirk hissed when Spock’s mouth finally left his.

Spock laughed. It was actually more of a quick amused exhalation, but it left no doubt that the Vulcan found the question amusing.

“Jim, would I do this in my right mind?”

Flabbergasted, Kirk could only stare back in disbelief. Then he broke out laughing. He laughed until tears welled up in his eyes and he found it hard to catch his breath. A slight smile remained in Spock’s eyes while he waited until Kirk had composed himself, then waited to see if Kirk would try to move away.

He didn’t.

Spock braced himself by placing his hands on the wall, one on either side of Jim’s head, his fingers splayed and locked. He slowly leaned forward, his voice a low, velvet whisper.

“Do you still wish your question answered?”

Spock lightly brushed Jim's temple with his lips.

“Experience _is_ the best teacher...” he murmured.

The tip of his hot tongue trailed against the rounded ear.

“...or so I have often been told.”

Kirk gasped in pleasure as the Vulcan’s teeth grazed his earlobe, sending an explosion of electric tingles from Kirk’s head to his toes. Then Spock’s mouth descended on his, catching his breath and giving it back to him again.

Determined Vulcan fingers found their way to his inner thigh, stroking and kneading, igniting delicious chills in Kirk’s groin. The kisses became more insistent, breathing became harder, Spock’s hand fondled, squeezed and teased Kirk’s erection through the fabric. Everything was moving too fast. The clasp on his pants was snapped open, the seam undone, and suddenly the constraint of fabric was gone. His throbbing cock protruded from his uniform, and was immediately enveloped by the fever-hot wetness of Spock’s mouth as the Vulcan dropped to his knees. It had been months since Kirk had had sex, and his aching cock betrayed his frustration. It was his body, and not his will, that kept him pinned against the wall, unable to move or protest.

Spock’s tongue, languid and skilled, snaked around Kirk’s straining erection. Spock tasted and savored every inch—slowly at first, then with more fervor, then slowing to lingering on the more sensitive areas. The delicious torture never stopped. He knew precisely how to scrape his teeth down the shaft, nudging pleasure into discomfort, then soothing the ache away with long, hot strokes. He took in all of Kirk, took him down the back of his throat. His lips clamped down hard around the base of Kirk’s cock, sheathing him in a moist, searing vise, then he slid his mouth back so he could thoroughly suck the head. Over and over, Kirk was devoured and released—only to be swallowed up again.

Spock’s enthusiasm and technique were extraordinary. Kirk had been around the galaxy a few times, but he hadn’t experienced anything like this.

But as waves of pleasure flooded him, Kirk looked down, and he saw his second-in-command on his knees performing fellatio on him. Spock would watch him, the captain of the Enterprise, lose control and climax. Just the thought of ejaculating down his first officer’s throat shocked him. No, it could not be.

Kirk couldn’t, he wouldn’t, allow it.

“Spock, release me—Spock, I can’t!” Kirk groaned, trying to push the Vulcan away. But Spock didn’t stop, and Kirk didn’t have the strength to make him do it.

A bead of sweat ran down Kirk’s brow, and his legs started to tremble. The pressure in his balls was building to the point of no return. Dizzily, he climbed higher and higher, until he heard something tear and he realized Spock must have ripped open his own pants. Looking down, Kirk saw Spock’s enormous erection. Everything Bones had said was true and more. The Vulcan’s organ was immense. His dark-emerald foreskin had slipped back, revealing the ominous double ridges. The hard shaft glistened, arching upwards, threatening savage penetration of whatever orifice would take it. If Spock tried to force anal sex, Kirk knew he would be torn apart. He had to stop this before it was too late.

Using all his effort, he attempted to pull himself free, but he merely lost his balance and thudded to the floor. He struggled to rise, but Spock's weight was quickly upon him, and Spock easily pinned his arms above his head. The Vulcan sought his mouth, enveloping it with his own. All gentleness was gone. Spock was clearly taking pleasure in Kirk’s struggle, his mumbled protests, his frantic thrashing as Spock forced his legs apart. Kirk wasn’t even sure if Spock knew who he was until he finally spoke in a hoarse whisper: “Jim...don’t fight me...I need you...I need you inside me...Don’t deny us both.” Then Spock lapsed into Vulcan. Perhaps they were words of reassurance or words of passion, but Kirk didn’t understand any of them.

He was cognizant of something subliminal seeping into his mind; Spock’s thoughts, and Spock’s _feelings_. It was emotion, unshielded and raw.

<<...pleasure...ecstasy...agony...bliss...>>

Spock bound Jim’s wrists in one strong hand and used the other to stroke his own shaft until the slit in the jade-green head released a thick, silky discharge. He transferred the fluid to Kirk’s erection until it, too, was slick. But with each tight, slippery stroke, Kirk found himself less and less inclined to resist. He had never been so utterly aroused. His cock was painfully engorged to the point of bursting; every nerve was on fire. Teetering on the verge of orgasm, he arched his back and thrust his sweating chest against Spock’s. His hips bucked upwards, driving his cock deeper into Spock’s fist. His one and only thought became to force himself into Spock, to fuck him, to thrust deep into his body until the madness left him.

Suddenly, Spock stopped—

Kirk’s wrists were freed; the Vulcan pulled back, rolled off, and lay motionless on the floor. Confused and impossibly frustrated, Kirk sat up and glared at him. “What the hell’s going on?”

Spock would not meet his eyes. Instead, he stared intently at the ceiling. A long moment passed before Spock finally spoke.

“I will not force you. The choice is still yours. My desire for you overtook me momentarily, but I have resumed control. Any unpleasantness I perpetrated will not be repeated.”

With his erection failing and his head clearing, Kirk suddenly realized what he’d been about to allow. “You’re damn right it won’t happen again,” he blurted.

He shot to his feet and pulled his pants up. Spock raised himself up on his elbows but otherwise did not move or speak. Finally Kirk turned to him, “Your request for leave is granted and your duties suspended. I don’t expect to see you again. Is that clear?”

Spock replied quietly, “Understood. Our paths must not cross again. I will carry with me the memories of our time together and what could have been this night. I will always think of you…fondly. I hope you shall remember me kindly as well.”

Kirk had never heard such anguish in the Vulcan’s voice. Kirk swallowed hard. Bile rose in the back of his throat. He paused for a long moment, then simply leaned down and kissed Spock’s cheek. It was a kiss of tenderness, a kiss of forgiveness, a kiss good-bye...

Then the captain was gone.

Spock reached up to touch his own face. It was still slightly moist from Jim’s kiss. His eyes prickled and became wet.

He felt bewilderment…

then comprehension.

Spock realized that he had never wept before.

*****

Spock beamed down to the planet Vulcan. He had not seen or communicated with James Kirk since that terrible night in his quarters.

The day he left the Enterprise, Scotty, Uhura, Chekov, Sulu, Christine Chapel, and other officers and crew said goodbye casually. Obviously they expected Spock to return to his post when his leave was up. None were aware that he would not be returning. If anyone wondered why Captain Kirk did not see him off, no one mentioned it. . Kirk had beamed down to the planet G’trua earlier that morning. Only McCoy joined Spock in the transporter room.

“Spock, I....” McCoy began, then realized they were not alone. A transporter officer waited at the controls.

Spock handed the doctor a small, hardcover book. He lowered his voice so that only McCoy could hear. “For Jim,” he said. “You’ll know when or if the time is right.”

There was nothing more to say. He turned and stepped on the transporter pad.

Spock gave the ta'al, the Vulcan salute, and said solemnly, “Tix-oi tor ang te-smur, Doctor McCoy.”

“What?”

“Live long and prosper,” Spock translated.

“Tix...oi.... Oh, to hell with it,” McCoy muttered. “Live long and prosper, Spock,” he replied, but his voice cracked on Spock’s name.

“Energize.” Spock gave his final command as first officer.

The transporter chamber shimmered around him. The Enterprise, Spock’s home for the last 11 years, dissolved around him….

*****

Spock had left G’trua for Vulcan almost immediately. There was no chance of an accidental meeting with Captain Kirk and Spock was both relieved and—to his shame—disappointed. Logic dictated that they avoid each other totally, yet he desired to see Jim’s face one last time, so that he might lock it in his memory as a rare and precious gift.

The sympathy in Amanda’s eyes as she met him at the beam down point brought him no comfort.

Mother and son exchanged the customary greetings, but little else was said. Sarek was away on a diplomatic mission and Spock was grateful that he would have time to himself before the Ambassador's return. Although Sarek would not consider homosexuality to be anything but an alternative lifestyle, it was Spock’s choice of a bondmate, his captain, that would have been considered unfitting.

Bonding between equals or near equals who worked closely together was discouraged. On Vulcan, male-to-male bonding was typically between a mentor and a student, like the ideal male/male relationship of Earth’s ancient Greek society. Sarek would see no logic in Spock’s desiring Kirk as a mate. Spock dreaded disappointing his father, yet again.

Amanda asked Spock only once why he had unexpectedly returned. He asked her to be patient, saying that he needed to speak to T’Pau before he could explain. He knew his mother would not inquire again. She would wait until Spock was ready to explain even though he could see the worry in her face as she looked at him.

He informed her that he preferred to secure private quarters at the Vulcan Science Academy to facilitate his personal research rather than to stay in his parent’s home. She was wise enough not to protest.

The elders at the Academy didn’t inquire as to why Spock requested permission to stay there. He was known as a brilliant scientist and his achievements had not gone unrecognized. When he was an adolescent, people had logically assumed that he would study at the Academy, then teach there, where the greatest scientific minds of Vulcan pursued their careers. When Sarek informed them that his son had joined Starfleet instead, the announcement was not well received. But now that Spock was back, no one questioned his motives.

Alone in his quarters at the Academy, Spock was restless and his dreams were filled with endless chasing after phantoms just beyond his reach—all futile attempts to find something that was lost. The episodes of angst and sexual frustration continued to increase in strength and duration. He found limited relief in his own hand and feared that soon his escalating condition would trigger full pon farr.

During the day nothing gave him peace. The research that he had hoped would occupy his mind and fill his time offered no appeasement. He tried strenuous physical activity, hours of deep meditation, all to no avail. He eventually gave up his research, as it seemed quite illogical to continue; he was unable to concentrate. He virtually stopped eating, unable to stomach even the Vulcan delicacies that he had always enjoyed.

One evening while he was walking alone in the horticulture garden at an hour that he assumed would give him privacy, a young Vulcan male approached him. The long, regal face seemed vaguely familiar.

“Greetings, Spock.” The young Vulcan exchanged the customary acknowledgments.

“Are we acquainted?”

“I am the younger brother of Sarken cha Sumek. I am Soken.”

“I knew your brother well when we were children,” Spock remembered. “I understand that he is with the Vulcan Diplomatic Service.”

“I will join him when I have finished my studies here."

They spoke of the past, childhood recollections, and the research Spock had been doing. Then the young Vulcan asked if they might continue the discussion later that evening.

“My research on gamma rays in the Alpha quadrant is almost completed," Soken said. "Your expertise in this area is well known. If you would agree to look at my data, I would be most honored. May I collect my notes and visit your quarters at 21.00 hours?”

Spock hesitated for a moment, then agreed. As Soken was the brother of a friend, it would be peculiar for Spock not to comply.

At the agreed time, Soken arrived at Spock’s room. As they discussed the research, not once, but twice, Spock corrected himself on a minor point. Soken noted that his host's thoughts didn’t seem completely cohesive.

Spock had arranged for food and drink to be brought, but he did not eat. Soken also noticed that Spock’s lack of nutrition must have had gone on for some time as his companion was showing signs of physical weakness. As Spock held a cup of tri'hla tea to his lips, the young Vulcan didn’t miss the slight tremor in the tapered fingers.

It wasn’t unusual for a Vulcan to fast or “ani’spara”—to cleanse the body and clear the mind, but it was illogical to continue to the point of serious affliction. Out of concern, Soken voiced a question.

“Forgive me if I intrude in your private affairs, but when did your ani’spara begin?”

“It is of no importance,” Spock replied, then he set down his cup of tea, and clasped his hands firmly in front of him. Spock knew that Soken had noticed the tremor as Vulcans were, by nature, exceedingly observant. Spock decided that he could no longer put himself in the position of close interaction with others.

“I beg to disagree,” Soken continued. “The mind affects the body, the body affects the mind. It is 'ni'var', two halves either in unity or discord.”

“Your point is?”

“You are exhibiting signs of corporeal deterioration. I can only conclude that the length of the ani’spara is becoming detrimental to both your physical and mental abilities.”

“Indeed?” Spock raised an eyebrow, but the rest of his face remained stoic.

Soken pressed on. “I also surmise that the severity of your fast is linked to some form of inner distress.”

“It is, as you said, a private matter. Permit me to examine your research another time, Soken. I feel the need to meditate.” Spock stood up, waiting for the young Vulcan to rise and take his leave as social custom dictated. But surprisingly, Soken did not make a motion to leave.

“I seek to remedy the situation, if you will permit it. I always looked up to you as a child, you were my 't’kra' —my role model,” Soken said softly. “I too felt different from my companions as you did, Spock, but I have learned to appreciate my differences even if others have not.”

“Soken, this is not the place or the hour for such—”

"The time for you is near, is it not? You can not deny what is obvious.”

“I neither deny nor acknowledge anything,” Spock said. “The subject is not open for discussion.”

Soken finally stood up and took a step towards Spock. “Then I shall merely state my intentions. Forgive my bluntness, but as our meeting will soon conclude I must be concise. It is true that I wished for you to examine my research, but it was not the only reason I wanted to speak with you privately. I wish you to consider a mnah.”

A mnah—a proposal. Spock crossed his arms and waited.

“May I continue?”

Spock nodded, even though he would have greatly preferred not to hear what Soken was about to say.

“If you have not chosen a bondmate, then I propose myself as a surrogate.”

Spock remained motionless, although he failed to repress the flicker of despondency that furrowed his brow. “I have already chosen a mate.”

“Then why is he not here? Why has he left you in such a state? I assume it is a _he_ , Spock, only because I understand you are no longer pledged to any Vulcan woman. If I am in error, then I apologize.”

Spock lowered his eyes for a long moment, staring at nothing. At first, the young Vulcan had feared he had gone too far and he was prepared to ask for forgiveness for any transgression. But when Spock finally looked up and spoke, it was without resentment or harshness.

“He whom I have chosen does not choose me, which I accept. This is not the first time I have found myself in this situation.”

He thought of T’Pring and her challenge. He had always suspected there was an additional reason why she dismissed him as a mate—his hybrid status. Here on his home planet, he was seen as less than Vulcan in the eyes of most. Even at the koon-ut-kal-if-fee, T’Pau had had doubts. “It is said thy blood is thin, Spock. Are thee Vulcan or are thee human?” The obvious disdain in her voice when she said ‘human’ left no doubt that Terrans were considered inferior. T’Pring had rejected him because he was half-human. James Kirk had rejected him because he was male. Spock couldn’t overcome either objection. He was what he was.

“There is a chance that your selected bondmate will reconsider?” Soken pressed.

“No.”

Soken took another step forward.

“Then if there is no impedance, I wish you to consider my mnah.”

The young Vulcan bowed his head in respect and continued; “I ask you not to reject my offer without serious consideration.”

Then Soken looked up at Spock with a gaze that required a one word answer—yes or no.

He could not find the words to tell Soken that what he felt for James Kirk was a bond so deep that it consumed him to his very core. No other mate, however willing or attractive, could ever replace the connection he and Jim shared.

But for the first time, Spock permitted himself to consider an alternative. If he allowed this union to take place with Soken, could it provide some physical relief? A chance perhaps to briefly calm his body and mind and permit him to focus again? For that small mercy, he could be content, even grateful.

He had tried unsuccessfully to quench his desires for Jim in the arms of a woman. He had not seriously considered another man, certainly no one aboard the Enterprise. Was it irrational to not take what was offered so freely in his hour of greatest need? What choice did he have? Logic dictated only one course of action, and yet he could not bring himself to “yes.”

Spock’s continued silence was taken as permission to proceed and the young Vulcan took it upon himself to remove his own clothing.

Firm, muscular and in excellent condition, Soken’s body was strong and beautiful. Spock automatically reacted, feeling a rush of warmth in his loins. He knew it was just the effect of strong sexual stimuli, but he allowed his body to respond and for the first time, he did not seek to control it.

Spock also began disrobing. He removed the sash, long dark tunic, sandals and loose silk pants that he was wearing, placing them neatly on a chair. Within moments, both Vulcans stood naked. The young Vulcan’s erection was full and heavy and a match to Spock’s. There was no shame in the way they observed each other’s genitals, only a curious acceptance that it was obvious that both were aroused.

Soken approached and immediately sank to his knees, recognizing that Spock needed release and needed it quickly. The mind-link to join them would come later, once Spock’s thoughts were clear again and no longer held prisoner by the necessities of the body.

Spock inwardly stiffened as he felt the young Vulcan’s mouth take him in. Relief would happen, must happen and the sooner the goal was reached, the faster _this_ would be over.

He felt a surge of heat and increased pressure in his testes. The chenesi had begun to thicken, but were not fully active. It mattered not. Spock only hoped that he could find some alleviation of his torment in this joining, this sexual act that had begun to engage his body, but not his mind.

The tongue caressed and stroked his hard flesh. It tickled and teased, and swirled around the twin-ridged head before beginning again. It was obvious that Soken was not inexperienced. A heavy fullness began to fill Spock’s loins, and he found himself reaching for the back of Soken’s head to guide the young Vulcan in a rhythm that would bring him to orgasm faster. His fingers twisted in the black hair—moving the hot, wet mouth back and forth, controlling the pace of the penetration. His hips began to thrust against that orifice so willing to receive him, and with each stroke, he pushed deeper until Soken's throat opened up enough to accommodate a substantial portion of his length.

Then a new sensation took hold as a finger inched its way between Spock’s buttocks. It found its goal hidden in the cleft and the pressure increased until the slippery digit slid into the puckered opening, sending spasms through Spock’s entire body. His buttocks clenched against the strange yet pleasing invasion and he could feel the tension building into tremors that made his legs tremble.

His gaze dropped to the young Vulcan below him, and he could see Soken pleasuring himself, firmly stroking his own glistening organ.

Spock’s nostrils flared, absorbing the scent of copper-musk that emanated from their hot, naked bodies. His sex throbbed, burning steel sheathed in skin stretched beyond endurance. Every searing nerve demanded, urged, forced Spock to ram himself down into that silky, eager throat.

//*FINISH* -*FINISH* -*FINISH*// Spock willed himself to end this bittersweet anguish.

But his body wouldn’t respond. The harder he sought to climax, the more his body denied him the pleasure. He had lost sovereignty over his actions. Waves of pleasure and pain alternated, locked in a battle for dominion over his mind. It was unbearable. He was fragmented, vanquished, disintegrating, spiraling down into an abyss of despair. He was no longer Spock, only a brutish beast thrusting again and again...

No control—

No fulfillment—

A nightmare—

Desperately, Spock locked onto an image; the mouth sucking him was the mouth that he wanted, the lips that surrounded him were the lips he desired—the man on his knees was James T. Kirk.

“Jim…”

He gasped the name out loud, twice. He wasn’t even fully aware that he had said it, for in that moment, it happened—

Flashes of light blinded him as he shuddered uncontrollably, and shot his seed vigorously into that void of ecstasy. His eyelids twitched and he groaned and arched his back, tightly gripping the back of the young Vulcan’s neck as wave after wave of contractions spewed hot semen from his body.

Immediately, his partner stiffened, then grunted. Soken’s climax bathed his legs, spurting in rhythmic contractions until both were completely sated.

When the gasping and trembling ceased, it was not Jim’s face that looked up at Spock when he opened his eyes, only the dejected gaze of Soken, which quickly turned away. Although Spock’s terrible sexual need had subsided for the moment, the overwhelming desire he felt for his captain had not. Both Vulcans knew it; there could be no mind-link between them. They would not see each other again.

Spock retrieved his robe and wrapped it around himself tightly, hoping that by covering his nakedness, he would feel less inadequate.

A voice inside his head—a voice tinged with disapproval—could not be silenced. “So human,” it mocked.

It was Sarek’s voice, as strong and clear in Spock’s memory as the day he had been born.

Spock turned to Soken, who was almost finished dressing.

“I am sor—“, Spock began, but the apology caught in his throat and died. All of his life he had tried to live up to other’s people’s expectations in a futile attempt to be accepted. Now, it seemed pointless to continue the charade—no atonement could erase the pain he felt for being a failure or ease the dissatisfaction of those he had disappointed.

“So human,” the inner voice said contemptuously, as the door shut behind Soken, leaving Spock once more alone and forsaken.

*****

//Three times I have sought a mate and three times I have failed…//

Resting his cheek upon the warm wall of his private patio, Spock tried to summon strength. But exhaustion was close and he dreaded the return of the dreams that haunted his sleep.

Spock calculated that he could not go on for much longer this way. He had a week at most. Then the madness of plak tow would descend upon him and he would become little more than a rutting animal with no outlet for his passion. Without the mate he desired, he would certainly die.

Logic, whatever small shred he had been able to hold onto, dictated only one course of action. Soon, very soon, he must take matters into his own hands. He did not fear death, but he would ensure that it would be quick and painless...

*****

By the time an audience with T’Pau was granted, Spock was pale, thin, and weak. It was only with supreme effort that he held himself erect, and forced his legs to carry him to where the matriarch of the clan waited.

Alone in the ceremonial chamber, T’Pau and Spock exchanged the customary Vulcan greetings, then she examined him closely before she would permit him to speak. He could feel the incredible strength of her mind probing his thoughts, even without touch.

“Spock, all is not well with you,” she said in high ceremonial Vulcan.

“I am content,” he replied.

“Content to die?”

“Content to accept the inevitable, T’Pau.”

“I would know more about what has brought you to this point. Approach me.”

Spock slowly walked towards her until he was standing in front of her chair and knelt. She reached out her gnarled hands, taking his gaunt face between her fingers and finding the points through which they would connect and be one mind. He dropped his shields to reveal his inner thoughts to her and she felt his love, his desire, and his pain.

When she was finished, she leaned back in her chair and exhaled slowly.

“It is illogical to die for love, Spock. Your Captain Kirk is your choice, but you are not his.”

“I accept his decision.”

“Accepting his decision means your death. Does he understand this?”

“He understands that I care deeply for him. That is sufficient.”

“I can clear your mind of your Kirk, wipe away your desire for him and all memories of his existence. You will forget and you will live.”

“Without those memories I would be dead anyway. They are the only things in this world that I cherish,” Spock replied. “Therefore, I must respectfully decline your offer.”

T’Pau nodded her head. The audience was ended.

*****

Kirk couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t really slept for weeks. McCoy had finally threatened to haul him into sickbay and give him a sedative. Instead, he gave him some sleeping pills and told him he had to relax—doctor’s orders. Kirk knew that McCoy missed Spock almost as much as he did, but they didn’t talk about the former first officer. Bones had tried to question him once about what had happened _that_ night, but Kirk adamantly refused to discuss it. McCoy, fortunately, had had the good graces to let it go, saying only, “If you need to talk, Jim, I’m here.”

During the day, he could block Spock from his mind. He kept busy with duties on the ship, forcing it out of his consciousness. His work didn’t suffer; no one suspected anything was wrong. But at night, alone in his quarters, his grief always came back to haunt him.

What had he done? How could he have let Spock go? Now, he thought back to that night, as he had done every night since—remembering the pleasure, the passion, the fear and the refusal. Had he made the right choice?

Physically, he had responded to Spock’s incredibly erotic sexuality. His body had betrayed him and wanted more. But emotionally there was a barrier he couldn’t cross—wouldn’t cross. And yet, he desperately wanted his friend back. It was as though a part of him had been ripped away and the resulting gaping hole ached with a dull pain that no pill could cure.

The intercom buzzed and he responded. “Kirk here.”

“Captain Kirk, there is a transmission from the high council on Vulcan. T’Pau has requested a private conversation with you.”

“T’Pau?” Kirk rolled off his bed and logged into his personal channel.

“Greetings, Kirk.” The old woman's accent was as heavy as he remembered it.

“Greetings to you, T’Pau.”

“I wish to speak to you of the former first officer under your command, the one you called Spock. His last request is that you should be informed of his highest regard for you.”

“Last request?” Kirk’s heart jumped in his chest.

“Live long and prosper, Kirk...”

“Wait T’Pau—is Spock dead or alive?”

“Spock is dead inside. His body will soon follow. Perhaps I have informed you of his last request prematurely. Forgive the intrusion. Peace and long life.”

T’Pau ended the transmission.

It took a moment, but then he realized that the crafty old fox was giving him time to get to Vulcan, to save Spock! He immediately ordered the bridge to change course.

“Kuptain, ve have just entered orbit around the Yuewan moon and have begun to beam down supplies,” Chekov reminded him.

“I said plot course for Vulcan, Mr. Chekov. Give her all she’s got.”

“Jim,” came the voice of Dr. McCoy over the speaker. “Those supplies are important. There is medical equipment that they need for...”

Kirk cut him off, “Course for Vulcan - now. That’s an order.”

*****

As Kirk approached the turbolift on his way to the bridge, the doors slid open and McCoy stepped out.

“We have to talk,” McCoy said.

“Later, Bones, Spock’s in some kind of trouble…”

“Now, Captain, unless you wish to discuss this in sick bay under orders from your Chief Medical Officer.”

McCoy's tone was coolly professional. It was extremely rare of him to pull rank on his commanding officer and he did so only when he considered it absolutely necessary. Even so, Kirk flashed him an angry glance.

“What is it?”

“Before Spock left the Enterprise, he entrusted me with his personal journal. He asked me to give it to you when the time was right.”

Kirk was suddenly aware that McCoy held a small book in his hand.

“When the time was right? And when the hell was the time going to be right?”

“Probably never,” McCoy shot back. “But this sudden decision to go to Vulcan after Spock changes everything.”

“Why?”

“Because before you see him again, I think you should know what’s in his heart.”

“Christ! _That_ is the last thing I need to know!” Kirk exploded.

“Why, Jim?” McCoy voice was forceful, demanding an answer.

Kirk ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. // TELL HIM. // pounded in his brain. // TELL McCOY THE TRUTH. // He couldn’t hide it anymore and words came rushing out like a flood.

“Because, damn it, I feel guilty as hell for letting him go. He might even be dying, right now on Vulcan and I’m the cause. I can feel it, the loathing I have for myself like some snake coiled deep inside, eating at my guts. I realize that I also have feelings for Spock, probably sexual feelings and I’m ashamed to admit it.”

There! It was out. All the fear and disgust Kirk had been feeling for weeks.

“Do you love him?”

The question caught Kirk off-guard.

“What kind of question is that?” Jim felt his cheeks flush red.

“A damn good one—answer it.”

“You’re out of line, Doctor.” His lips tight with anger, the captain tried to brush past McCoy. But Bones grabbed him by the arm, swung him around, forcing him to make eye contact.

“The truth! Do you love Spock?”

It was too much. Jim wrenched himself away, then slumped back against the wall. He shook his head and took a deep, unsteady breath.

“Probably, maybe, I don’t know…all right—yes. I do. I actually love that pointed-eared, green-blooded Vulcan!”

They were both silent for a moment.

“So tell me how you really feel,” McCoy chided softly.

“Who could ever have guessed that it would turn out this way?” Kirk said with a deep sigh.

“I did,” McCoy replied, a warm grin spreading over his face. He placed Spock’s journal in Jim’s hand.

*****

Spock’s personal journal lay unopened on Kirk’s desk.

He sat staring at the small book, almost afraid to touch it. He wondered why Spock had chosen to write down his thoughts rather than voice-record them. But then he remembered Spock’s appreciation for old manuscripts and the fluid flow of traditional ink upon paper.

The fine silk cover and binding were exquisite, of the finest Vulcan workmanship. Delicate gold braiding secured the pages to the spine, and the paper inside was hand-made ivory parchment.

It was a lot like Spock, he caught himself thinking: top notch quality, clean lines, exotic, and unique—a thing of superb form, function, and beauty.

// I don’t want to know...I can’t. Damn it, don’t be such a coward—open it. //

He reached out and ran his hand over the silky fabric, almost in a caress. Taking a deep breath, he opened the cover and immediately recognized Spock’s precise handwriting.

There were no stardates, just a collection of thoughts jotted down at different times.

The first few pages were just general musings, reflections, and observations about the ship and crew, nothing directly related to Spock’s feelings about him.

But then, one entry caught Kirk’s attention:

[ He came again tonight. As is our custom, we played chess, which is one of the few comforts I permit myself off duty. I do not know why I choose his company, why I seek it out. I do not normally enjoy the companionship of humans. I only know that when he is near, I am at ease. I feel that I can let my guard down a little and that is a great accomplishment. ]

Some weeks later Spock wrote:

[ When I think of our friendship, I am ashamed. I do not know if I am ashamed because he offers me his affection with such easy grace or ashamed because I covet it but cannot reciprocate his feelings. This man whom I admire chooses me over men of merit of his own species and I am honored by his regard. But if he knew my true nature, that part of me that I permit no one to see, would he still wish to call me friend? Or would he be as disappointed in me as I am in myself? ]

// You are and always will be my friend. Spock, how could you not have known that? I was angry and confused. I didn’t mean it when I said I didn’t want to see you again. //

But another entry a few pages further along made him smile.

[ I am gratified he has returned to the Enterprise. I felt curiously restless when he was absent, unable to thoroughly concentrate on my duties. When he saw me, he smiled. This strange human expression of emotion gives me a sense of satisfaction that I could never admit I take pleasure in. Then he put his arm around my shoulder for a brief moment. I do not normally enjoy being touched, but with him it is different. With him, for reasons I am unsure of, it seems appurtenant, or using the Terran vernacular—it feels ‘right’. I shall endeavor to find out why I allow myself to feel this emotion for him. ]

Still later he wrote:

[ Tonight we did not play chess, but retired to the observation deck after a meal. The hour was late, affording us some privacy. He talked, I listened, grateful to have his confidences. I am engaged by his mind, his dedication, his wit, and the way he moves with comfort in this culture that I find so perplexing. He has become more than my captain or my friend. “Brother” is too inadequate a word, for what I feel for him is not familial—the bond runs deeper than blood. He radiates an inner light, a vibrant spirit that shines through even in the darkest of situations. I am drawn to its brilliance as surely as a moth is attracted to a flame. It is not logical, but it is the truth.]

The entries made over the next week and months, indicated that Spock’s feelings for Kirk were becoming more intimate. Kirk read one section twice in order to take it in fully.

[ My bright one. Do you realize that this half-smile of mine, this weak token of emotion, is all I can offer you? It speaks volumes if only you would listen. I cannot approach you as you approach me; open, affectionate, without reservation, minus the fear of losing control. I must restrain myself. I must always be Vulcan. I want to move towards you and cannot. You must see past the barrier that exists between us for I am entrapped by my culture and my weaknesses and therefore cannot reach for you. Reach for me, for I am here. ]

Kirk continued reading late into the night. He felt Spock’s pain and torment, his rigorous attempts to maintain control, and to hide behind logic and Vulcan propriety. He relived the last few weeks Spock’s life aboard the Enterprise, and felt Spock’s the despondency as he reached out to the one person who was blind to the love he offered.

By the time he got to the last paragraph, his eyes brimmed with tears:

[ This shall be my last entry. Tomorrow, I depart the Enterprise and relinquish my duties as First Officer. My life after this does not matter and is of little concern. Whatever semblance of an existence I have known aboard this ship and all that I have gained—the promotions, the honors, the commendations for valor, the years I have spent in the service—pales in comparison to what I have lost. The light in my life has been extinguished. He whom I have chosen must follow another path. He takes the light with him on his journey elsewhere and darkness envelops me.

I had hoped against all logic and reason that he might comprehend how he completes me.

Vulcans cannot love, do not love, yet I love. It exists, a fact that cannot be disputed. I have humbled myself before him, lost control, and bared the essence of my soul. Now all dignity has left me. I have only myself to blame. I cannot regain that which is most important to me. My bright one, my t'hy'la, my Jim…is lost to me. I too am lost forever... ]

There the journal ended.

Kirk buried his head in his hands. A single tear slid down his face, falling silently onto the open page…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Some illustrations below are NSFW!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archivist's Note:
> 
> Part (chapter) 2 of Spock's Journal was originally published in Side By Side 3. Illustrations are also by T'Guess.

She gazed over the gardens. Beyond the low stone walls, the desert began its long, searing stretch toward the mountains. The craggy peaks were silhouetted in stark majesty against the brilliant ruby-red of the darkening sky. But her thoughts weren’t on the beauty of landscape. Much more important matters consumed her energy.  
  
Any passersby would merely see a woman standing on the balcony: controlled, tranquil, exquisitely beautiful—the essence of Vulcan womanhood. But her mind was selfish and cunning, centered around a ruthless pragmatism that was evaluating, processing, calculating, and analyzing the new information she had received. The secret coded message had told T’Pring all she needed to know.  
  
Spock. On Vulcan. Seriously incapacitated and on the verge of mental and physical collapse. All because he desired his insipid human captain and had been repudiated.  
  
T’Pring was well satisfied with the knowledge.  
  
Not much intelligence data, including that of a private or personal nature, was beyond her reach. A significant portion of her vast personal wealth had been spent on insuring that she was kept informed of the inner workings of the high council, as well as any lucrative business interests both on Vulcan and off-world.  
  
Securing an informant who was an aid to T’Pau had only been a matter of negotiating the price. It gratified her to know that not all Vulcans were immune to bribery if the approach was presented logically, backed by substantial financial motivations.  
  
It had always been her specialty—flawless logic, executed with ruthless precision and perfect timing. Sooner or later, her informant’s superiors would discover the leak and he would be removed from office and severely disciplined. It did not matter. He was a minor player in her game, both expendable and replaceable. Even if he did reveal the name of his employer, voluntarily, by a mind-meld or truth serum, it would be of no consequence. She made sure secret communications and evidence were promptly destroyed, filtered through a second off-world operative who did not know her real identity. Point and counterpoint had been anticipated, accounted for and dealt with.  
  
Behind her, stood a shadow.  
  
It was a familiar shadow—Stonn’s. He always waited for her, lingering to see what decision she would make. He had easily fallen into the pattern of letting her formulate and execute any plans. But he was becoming increasingly tedious. Concealed beneath the beautiful, refined facade she projected, T'Pring had a will of iron. She needed an equally strong consort to match her, complement her, join forces with her to reach the pinnacle of power she craved. Stonn, unfortunately, was not that mate.  
  
It amused her mildly to think of what Spock had said to Stonn after the kal-if-fee. “After a time, you may find that having is not, after all, as pleasing a thing as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true.”  
  
Spock had been correct. It was merely the direction of his delivery that was erroneous. It was T’Pring who was not pleased with the having. Stonn had promised much before marriage and had delivered little afterwards. It was a rare error on her part to have selected a consort who in the end had not the ambition, fortitude, or talent to provide her with what she wanted. She would correct that error.  
  
She turned to Stonn and dismissed him with a graceful wave of her hand. He immediately withdrew. He did not like it, but he had long ago ceased to debate the issue. T’Pring could weave endless threads of delicate logic until she tired of the sport—tightening her resolve without warning, strangling the hapless victim with his own words. There was only one master of this house and it was not Stonn.  
  
She watched his departure out of the corner of her eye with complete indifference, then walked out into the garden. The cool sound of water from the fountain led her to a stone bench where she could sit and reflect on the past, present, and future. Had it been almost a year since Spock had been on Vulcan soil? Time had passed quickly. She was pleased that her revenge would be expedient. She remembered too well the path that had brought her here.  
  
Well before the kal-if-fee, T’Pring had become aware that Spock’s thoughts were turning away from her. Their bond had always been vague, more because of his lack of interest in their betrothal than because of the great physical distances between them. But this was different. She did not know exactly who had become the focus of his attention, but as that focus magnified and deepened, the mind-link eroded into a faint haze. She had been replaced, almost vanquished from his mind. Only the primal sex drive of pon farr would force them together again. It secretly infuriated her. T’Pring would be no compliant wife, waiting patiently on Vulcan for his return from Starfleet as months turned into years. A rival would not replace her in his thoughts. She would have all of him or none.  
  
Her personal honor demanded satisfaction. It came in the form of Stonn. He would be the weapon that she could use to wound Spock as he had wounded her.  
  
When she first saw her intended consort with the human, James T. Kirk, at the ‘place of marriage or challenge’, she immediately knew their relationship was more than that of captain and first officer. It was also more than a friendship, although she was unable read exactly what was in Spock’s thoughts in his aroused and confused state of mind.  
  
But in that moment when Spock killed Kirk—all became instantly clear. Immediately, the pon farr bond between them severed completely, snapped by the intense flash of painful emotion, which was absolute and overwhelming. Spock had a deep and unyielding bond, and even unshielded emotions for that insipid sentient being!  
  
She knew who her rival had been. He lay on the hot sand with the ahn woon ligature wrapped tightly around his throat.  
  
Her greatest consolation was that she had taken from Spock what he desired most even if he could not admit the depth of his feelings for the human. Only after the Enterprise had left orbit did she learn that Kirk still lived. The victory had been Spock’s and not hers. He had his captain, he remained with Starfleet, and he had rid himself of a wife he had never wanted. The price of his good fortune was her social isolation. T’Pring was not an outcast, but avoided—avoided politely, respectfully, but still eschewed by the great houses of Vulcan. She had dared to challenge. It was her right, but in rejecting the only son of the powerful house of Sarek, she had brought the inevitable repercussions.  
  
A slight flittering drew her attention to the edge of the bench. A small di’ma butterfly had landed only inches away. Its brilliant iridescent wings shone brightly—a rainbow of colors that appeared to move and change as they reflected back the rays of the sun. It was a gorgeous creature, a rare species that rarely ventured far from its home in the fertile valleys that lay beyond the ridge of mountains.  
  
With infinite patience, T’Pring slowly reached toward it, determined not to frighten the fragile insect away. Then with a quick swoop, she captured the prize. Picking it up, she held it delicately in the palm of her hand so as not to damage it in any way. But as she carefully examined the exquisite specimen, her thoughts returned to Spock. The plan she had formulated was both brilliant and simple to execute because of Spock’s current condition. Soon, very soon, she would have her revenge.  
  
The tiny creature struggled to free itself, but she gently cupped her other hand around it, preventing its escape. It would make a fine addition to her collection, once she had put it into her killing jar.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
It would be 53 hours before they reached Vulcan, even at warp factor six.  
  
Kirk paced in his cabin; formulating what he needed to do once he arrived. McCoy had asked to beam down with him, but Kirk felt what had to be said or done was a private matter between him and Spock.  
  
//Spock, hold on…// he whispered silently to himself, hoping somehow he could project his thoughts into the Vulcan’s mind before it was too late. What if he didn’t get there in time? It was too painful to even think about.  
  
Kirk had been waiting for his private communication to Vulcan to be returned. He didn't have to wait long. The reply was forwarded from the bridge to his personal com.  
  
Amanda was gracious; she informed him that Spock was staying at the Vulcan Science Academy.  
  
“Captain…Jim. I know he’s troubled. If you can possibly help him…please do. It’s so hard to stand by as his mother and feel helpless…”  
  
“I will do whatever is necessary,” Kirk said, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he meant every word.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Spock was roused from a fitful twilight sleep by the low, melodic chime of the door access com.  
  
// Who? // He expected no one at this hour.  
  
The chime sounded again.  
  
Spock struggled to his feet, tried to blink the haze from his eyes, and said “K’vath”. The door unlocked and opened.  
  
A dream—  
  
An illusion—  
  
// I must wake! // He blinked again hard, forcing himself to concentrate. This was not a hallucination born of sleep deprivation. Or was it? In his current state of mind, he couldn’t be sure of anything.  
  
She stood there—a beautiful, cold, marble statue. T’Pring.  
  
For a long moment, she did nothing but coolly appraise him with her eyes. She stayed at the entrance, her form preventing the door from automatically closing. Finally, the vision spoke.  
  
“We meet again, Spock. Peace and long life.” She raised her elegant fingers in the traditional Vulcan greeting.  
  
“T’Pring,” he finally acknowledged after a long moment, forcing her name from his lips. His right arm hung heavy at his side, unable to respond to the customary gesture as if the gravity in the room had suddenly tripled.  
  
“I’d heard you were...unwell. I see that this is true. I have come to offer whatever assistance I am able to provide.” Her words were quiet and languid, as smooth as milk and honey.  
  
“I do not need your assistance, nor do I want anything from you,” Spock replied, his voice tight with disdain.  
  
“Kaiidth. What has been from the beginning will be to the end.” A slight smile played briefly at the corners of her lips. Was she mocking him?  
  
“What is the real purpose of your visit, T’Pring?”  
  
“I concede that because of my actions that I am responsible for your current condition.”  
  
“Explain.”  
  
“Had I not dared to challenge, you would have eased your pain in this body. Instead, my rejection has forced you to turn to a less appropriate partner for your satisfaction. But I understand the outworlder, your captain, has forsaken you as I did. I can only hope that you will find a mate worthy of your attentions before it is too late.”  
  
Speechless disbelief—  
  
If T’Pring had attacked him with a lirpa, it would have come as no greater a shock or insult. Spock felt as if a sharp blade had been thrust into his chest and twisted. If he had been in control of his emotions, he might have been able to suppress his reaction. He was not in control.  
  
Anger instantly flamed up inside him, engulfing him in rage so intense that his hands began to tremble. He wanted to strike her, knock her across the room, wipe that sarcastic half-smile from her face!  
  
In a heartbeat he was upon her, grabbing her upper arms and shaking her violently.  
  
“You will cease! If you do not leave immediately, I shall break your neck!”  
  
Flashes of movement—  
  
Voices—  
  
Strong hands wrenching him free—  
  
Vulcan students staying at the Academy had heard Spock shouting, had pushed in through the doorway, and seized him. Released from his steely grip, T’Pring escaped back against the wall as Spock and his captors fell in a struggling heap to the floor. Another student joined the fray. Within moments, Spock was on his feet and held fast. He stood motionless, having quickly given up the fight.  
  
“Are you injured?” one of the students asked T’Pring.  
  
“Not seriously,” she replied coolly, rubbing the bruises on her arms where Spock’s fingers had dug deeply into her flesh.  
  
“I will call security,” another man added, moving towards the communication com. “He must be removed from this facility immediately, and taken to a treatment facility.”  
  
“No,” T’Pring said firmly. “I shall leave. When he has calmed sufficiently, release him on his own recognizance.”  
  
“But...” the student interjected.  
  
“Please do as I ask. I want no further trouble.” T’Pring’s tone of voice demanded respect and compliance.  
  
The student glanced at Spock. He no longer exhibited any violent behavior, and he was now calm and controlled. He posed no immediate threat.  
  
After a long hesitation, the largest man nodded his head. “As you wish. But this incident will need to be reported, and a doctor will be summoned to examine him.”  
  
“I will speak to the proctor before I leave,” T’Pring said. “The necessary steps will be taken to ensure that he gets the treatment he needs. If your testimony is required, the proctor will contact you.”  
  
Then she was gone.  
  
//What had happened wasn’t real, couldn’t be.// Spock thought bitterly to himself.  
  
//This is no dream, but a horrible nightmare…//  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Spock lay on his bed, shuddering, his legs pulled tight to his chest.  
  
She.  
  
Here taunting him.  
  
Pushing him over the edge.  
  
Not a hallucination.  
  
He had tried to hurt T'Pring. He had done a terrible thing and disgraced himself. All control was gone. This torture of mind and body must not continue. He pulled himself up and struggled uneasily to his feet. He gathered the things that he would need and exited his room without a backward glance. Whatever was left behind would be the responsibility of his next of kin.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
The air outside the Academy quarters had cooled a little. It was very late. He hoped that he would see no one nor did he. The only sound came from the humming of insects flickering around the lights.  
  
Spock made his way down the dimly lit walkway, passed the huge stone entrance, and turned into the darkness.  
  
The blow came out of nowhere—  
  
He wasn’t even aware he had been struck until the ground rushed up before him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of two large, unkempt figures looming in the shadows. He felt a flash of pain as his head smashed into the ground, then blackness whirled, and a star-filled galaxy enveloped him.  
  
// Stars? // he thought in his confusion. // Stars, space...how beautiful. I’m home...//  
  
Then he slipped silently into unconsciousness.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
When Kirk beamed down and reached the Vulcan Academy that morning, he found out too late that Spock had disappeared. No one knew his whereabouts, and Kirk feared the worst. His only hope was Amanda.  
  
She was anxiously awaiting him when he arrived, but Sarek, who had returned the night before, would not receive him. Kirk didn’t have to wonder why. T’Pau, it seemed, had finally contacted Spock’s family, and Amanda and Sarek now knew the reason why Spock had returned to Vulcan and why he was seriously ill.  
  
At first, Amanda didn’t know where Spock might be, but her worry and concern was obvious.  
  
“Go to him, find him,” she implored. “He is my son, but I cannot save him. Only you can do that.”  
  
“Is there a special location, a place of meditation or a private sanctuary that Spock might have gone to?”  
  
“Yes!” Amanda suddenly remembered a small grotto, lush and green, hidden in the mountains near a volcanic stream outside the city. It was one of the rare spots on Vulcan that wasn’t arid and hot, because it provided both shelter from the wind, and a cool underground spring. But it was difficult to reach on foot, so it was often deserted. It had been one of her son's favorite places as a child.  
  
Please let Spock have gone there, she prayed. But logic told her he could be anywhere, already dying or dead. She quickly wrote directions and gave them to Kirk.  
  
“Mrs. Sarek, may I ask a highly personal question?” Kirk inquired as he folded her little map and placed it in his pocket.  
  
“About my son?”  
  
“No, about you. We are both aware of what may or may not happen if I find Spock alive.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Forgive my bluntness, but I need to know…How do you survive during Sarek’s 'Time'?”  
  
Amanda paused. On Vulcan, privacy was almost a prime directive, and yet Captain Kirk had good reason to ask.  
  
“When you love someone, especially a Vulcan, you must surrender your fear. Pain comes from not being sure, having doubts, closing up when you should be opening yourself. This applies to both the mentalbond and physicalbond.  
  
“Rather then fight it, a partner needs completely relax, and trust their partner. Vulcan males can and do control themselves, even in private matters. It is only during the darkest moments of pon farr that extreme caution must be exercised. When all else fails, restraints are used to prevent injury.”  
  
“Restraints?”  
  
“Similar, Captain Kirk, to what we call bondage on Earth. It allows a partner to control the situation and easily distance her or himself from the violent movements of the Vulcan male. We have private rooms created for such a purpose and as you can see, I have remained here with Sarek for many years uninjured.”  
  
“Would Spock know about these rooms and restraints?”  
  
“I would assume so, although we have never discussed it. It is a father’s place to instruct his son in these matters.”  
  
“Fascinating…and quite logical,” Kirk replied.  
  
“Of course. Logic is the Vulcan way in all things. But,” Amanda cautioned, “if you find Spock, and if he is in full pon farr, you will not have access to a room with necessary restraints...”  
  
Her words died off, and a chill went through Kirk.  
  
“It’s a risk I’ll have to take,” he answered.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Spock became dimly aware that he couldn’t move. His head throbbed dully and his arms and legs felt as though they were encased in lead.  
  
// No, it is not lead. Then what? //  
  
He opened his eyes, vaguely making out shapes: walls and furniture. A room. It was sparse and functional. But unfamiliar.  
  
// Where am I? //  
  
He shook his head, willing himself to full consciousness. As his eyes began to focus again, he looked down and discovered that he was naked. His ankles, legs, arms, wrists and waist were tightly bound to the bed. The bindings were covered inside with a soft, flesh-like material that would leave no marks on his skin.  
  
Despair.  
  
// They have locked me up to let me expire in the in madness of pon farr. //  
  
Spock tested the bindings, then strained against them with every muscle, but the restraints held. He slumped back onto the bed. He would die here in this unfamiliar room, alone, in terrible need, strapped down like a wild animal—no, worse—a naked, raving lunatic. He would have preferred to choose the time and place—a small green grotto under a vast canopy of black sky and brilliant stars. But apparently someone had decided that he would not be afforded that last courtesy.  
  
But surely no Vulcan would allow this horror, he told himself. Surely someone would come with painkillers and tranquilizers to allow him to slip into death with at least some of his dignity remaining.  
  
The door opened—  
  
T’Pring entered.  
  
//What is she doing here? Why had this been permitted? Surely the medical staff of this facility would not breach my privacy by allowing such a visit?//  
  
“I am gratified you are conscious,” she said without a hint of emotion. “It would have weakened you further if I had needed to use drugs to facilitate your recovery.”  
  
She walked to the foot of the bed, coolly examining him.  
  
“ _You_ had me brought here?”  
  
“That is an illogical question, not worthy of an answer.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow. This was no medical facility. He was undoubtedly her captive, but for what purpose.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Haven’t you figured that out yet? The time you have spent with humans has dulled your mind.” She walked to a table and picked up a hypo.  
  
“If it is poison, then I welcome it.”  
  
“Poison? That too is illogical.” She sighed. He was obviously disappointing her with his replies. “You would not be in this state if you had remembered your heritage and honored your bond of betrothal instead of casting me aside in your thoughts. You chose an inferior position with Starfleet over the hereditary power and status that was yours on Vulcan. That was an error.”  
  
She tapped the hypo with a long tapered nail. “This is the correction for your solecism.”  
  
T’Pring slowly approached him, bent over the bed and pressed the hypo against his arm  
  
“Consider this a gift.”  
  
For a few moments, she watched him carefully, their eyes fixed on one another in a silent stalemate between prisoner and captor. Suddenly, Spock was aware of a trembling sensation in his extremities, then a building of tension, a rise in his heart rate, an unmistakable pressure in his lower back. The pressure spread through his hips, his thighs and into...  
  
“NO!” Spock shouted. His head thrashed from side to side and he yanked against his bonds, desperate to tear himself free.  
  
She clamped her hands around his face and forced him to look at her. “Falikal. It has begun.”  
  
“I will not submit!” Spock writhed on the bed, trying desperately to break contact with her, but she held on tightly.  
  
“Again, most illogical. Do you have a choice?” She faintly smiled. “Before you sink into plak tow, while you can still comprehend what I say, know that I will have my revenge. I shall sire a child from your seed.”  
  
"I will not be used thus!” Spock tried again to thrust his head away and she willingly let him go. She moved again to the end of the bed.  
  
“When I inform T’Pau and council that you attacked me at the Academy, then sought me here alone and ravished me in the blood fever, no one will doubt my story.”  
  
“That is why you came to my room. A set up to provoke me to anger, violence...you needed witnesses.”  
  
“Your shame will be my reward, Spock. Sarek cannot turn me away. By law, one who has been ravished must be taken into the offender’s family and provided for. Later, the Ambassador will accept our child as his only heir. The son or daughter of Spock will inherit everything: wealth, prestige and position, everything you denied yourself and us. Through the child, I will wield power in the great house of Sarek.”  
  
“I beg you—do not do this!” Spock’s breathing quickened, and his eyes narrowed to slits. The madness was escalating, blocking his ability to reason and think. Still he struggled against what was about to happen to him against his will.  
  
// I must fight! // he gasped silently to himself, but the savage, relentless stimulation flooded his body and mind. It was too powerful. He clenched his eyes shut, unable to do anything but lie trembling as the ruthless blood fever took hold of him.  
  
//Too late...// he thought wretchedly. //Too late....//   
  
“Of course, neither you nor Stonn can be permitted to survive to dispute my story. Stonn will discover you violating me, and he will mortally wound you. Before you die, you will kill him. Then I shall be free of both of you. It matters not that my own hand will inflict both your deathblow and his. The end result will be the same, an unfortunate crime of passion. The evidence I have so carefully planted will exonerate me. You once said I was flawlessly logical. I assume that in this endeavor, I have surpassed any previous expectations?”  
  
His watched her eyes as she examined his face, as her gaze ran the length of his body, from the dark patch of hair that covered his heaving chest…lower still to rest upon his growing erection.  
  
Spock was almost beyond the ability to form words, but he managed to mouth a harsh rasp of disconnected syllables.  
  
“Mur..d.r....is.....ill..log..i...”  
  
“We don’t have time for a debate. I shall prepare myself. I will not leave you long in your agony, for your gift is also mine.”  
  
Then she was gone.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Although Kirk materialized closed to the grotto, he still had to cross the last quarter mile on foot because of the treacherous terrain. Deep caves the scored the surface of the mountain.  
  
The climb was hard and steep and the hot dry air made his lungs burn and his extremities ache despite the tri-ox injection. But he refused to give in to his pain. If he didn’t reach Spock soon, his life wouldn’t be worth anything, anyway. The sound of water just ahead made him scramble more quickly over rocks that cut into his legs, but he felt little pain. He had to get to Spock before it was too late.  
  
He could see green trees against the jagged boulders, and as he descended into the grotto he could grab onto thick, ropy vines to prevent a fall. At the bottom of the gorge, a glorious waterfall spilled into a stream, and for a moment he imagined the pleasure of jumping in, clothes and all.  
  
But he had to find Spock, so he put it out of his mind and searched the area thoroughly, for any sign of life. It was, as Amanda had said, deserted.  
  
Inside an hour, Kirk was near collapse. As he sank to his knees, gasping for breath, he felt frustration overwhelm him, and he shouted at the top of his lungs: “SPOCK!”  
  
Only his echo replied.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
It was worse this time. Much worse.  
  
What he had experienced during the blood fever a year ago was but a weak prelude to the agony he suffered now. His entire groin radiated fiery pain, his penis throbbed excruciatingly, and he moaned incoherently with the desperate need to climax inside his mate. His erection ached fiercely for any touch. Even that of his tormentor.  
  
His nostrils flared. Her scent drifted to him—calling to him, taunting him, hovering just beyond reach. The slightest breath of air sent scorching waves throughout his body, and every nerve burst into flame.  
  
Then suddenly T’Pring was there, in the room with him, standing before him with her enticing beauty and her malevolent half-smile, and her silken robe slipping from her shoulders. She shook her shoulders and the robe slid all the way off: she was naked underneath, and the sight of her firm breasts, flawless skin and long legs sent him spiraling further down into the grasp of uncontrollable lust. She approached, and he tried to rise up to meet her, writhing against his bindings—his only thought to possess her.  
  
She placed the pads of her fingers against his cheeks, quickly re-establishing a tenuous mind-link.  
  
His desire surged into her like a torrent of water bursting from a dam. It flooded her body and mind, the scorching deluge completely filling her, until she too, was utterly aroused.  
  
Mounting the bed, she straddled his trembling legs, and as their flesh made contact, he lunged helplessly towards her, groaning like an animal.  
  
She brushed herself against his hips: teasing and taunting him. Spock’s hands strained against the restraints to reach for her, touch her, to press her down on his inflamed sex.  
  
She carefully shifted upwards, then slid herself against his erection, rubbing his dripping wetness onto her own flesh. His double-ridged head slowly parted her softness, nudging it wider and wider until it squeezed into the silky-smooth opening. He moaned in sweet agony, as inch by inch, he pushed further into her body, seeking relief in her hot tightness.  
  
Gathering momentum, Spock began to slide in and out. Faster and harder—he drove himself up, his hips barely touching the bed. Then, he suddenly thrust upwards with all his force, penetrating her as deeply as he could. Again and again, he rammed into her, oblivious to everything but his torment and the searing vise that gripped him.  
  
T’Pring ran her hands along his flank, slipping them under the muscles of his lower back, then stroked the engorged chenesi. An explosion of sparks ripped through his entire body, and he bucked so hard that she was almost thrown. Only the swelling of the double ridges deep inside her prevented it. She tightened her legs to retain her balance—and moved with him, increased the rhythm, withdrew slightly whenever his demands became too painful or erratic.  
  
Spock stiffened, his hands clenched, and he stopped breathing. The dizzy ringing in his ears became a deafening roar. The slightest movement would send him over the edge.  
  
She stroked again, sliding down the length of his shaft—  
  
They cried out at the same time, their mutual climax a firestorm that incinerated them both with its fury. Waves of pleasure coursed through their bodies and minds, magnified twofold as each felt the other’s orgasm as if it were their own.  
  
As he fell down the long spiral into merciful oblivion, Spock realized that the bittersweet sobs that rang in his ears, were his own.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Back at the Science Academy, Kirk searched Spock’s quarters, but came up empty.  
  
He had been searching for any clue that might tell him where Spock had gone and come up with nothing, absolutely nothing.  
  
“Damn him,” Kirk muttered under his breath, and as he barged out of the room and around a hallway corner, he nearly ran directly into a rather formidable Vulcan male.  
  
“Excuse me...” Kirk said, edging around the man. The Captain of the Enterprise took a few more steps, then swung back.  
  
“Excuse me...?”  
  
“One apology is sufficient,” the large Vulcan replied stoically.  
  
“No! Wait...” Kirk quickened his step to catch up to him. “I’m looking for Spock. The son of Sarek. He has quarters on this floor. Have you seen him recently?”  
  
The Vulcan stopped and turned to face him, his eyes narrowing.  
  
“Not since the other evening… under circumstances that I found most disconcerting.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Is this an official concern of Starfleet?” The Vulcan examined him and his uniform coolly.  
  
“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either.  
  
“The man called Spock was aggressive and violent.”  
  
“He is...unwell.”  
  
“Yes, he must be, to place his hands upon a woman in anger.”  
  
“Which woman?”  
  
The Vulcan did not know her name, but he described her. T’Pring! Kirk had no doubt it was she.  
  
“Do you know why they fought?”  
  
“No, I do not. But the woman did not fight; she was assaulted.”  
  
“Thank you, thank you very much.” Kirk ran towards the exit.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Stonn had been summoned to meet T’Pring at their private mediation villa in the mountains west of the city. He had arrived earlier than expected, anticipating her pleasure at his excellent news. He was to be promoted, and he hoped she would be pleased. But T’Pring was not here, nor did he encounter any servants or expect to. They had not occupied this house for some time.  
  
Perhaps she had left a message on the com.  
  
Yes. She instructed him to come to the ‘rutter eter retter’ <one and together> room, which was on the lower level. How peculiar. That room was used for only one purpose, and now was not his 'Time'. It was doubly perplexing, for T’Pring had avoided any physical contact with him for months.  
  
What was she up to?  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
The moment had arrived.  
  
T’Pring walked across the room, opened the door to a wall niche, and removed the dagger. When questioned, she would claim that Spock had followed her here and forced her into this soundproof room, then ravished her in the madness of pon farr.  
  
She would also state that she had momentarily broken free, and that she had run to the cabinet and grabbed the dagger to defend herself. But Spock was, of course, too strong, and overtook her. She smiled to herself as she reviewed her story. Stonn, arriving, would discover the act of rape, lunge for the dagger on the floor, and begin to fight Spock. Stonn would wound Spock mortally, seconds before Spock succeeded in applying the ancient killing technique of tal-shaya, instantaneously breaking Stonn’s neck.  
  
T’Pring picked up her silk robe and slashed at it with the dagger, tearing the gossamer material to shreds. The she positioned the knife carefully in her left hand and, without flinching, she then ran the blade lightly across her arm. She watched the dark green blood well with satisfaction. Yes, it would look exactly as though a right-handed assailant had done it. When there was enough blood on her arm, she shook it vigorously so that many drops fell and stained the floor—an obvious sign of a struggle. Later, she would make sure that both Spock’s and Stonn’s fingerprints were on the knife handle, and she would stain Spock’s skin in many places with her blood.  
  
The conception was also assured. Most pon farr matings produced a child, but T’Pring had gone a step further, significantly raising the odds by taking powerful fertility drugs. Even if they did not work, she would still have her deadly revenge upon Spock. Even better, she would finally be rid of Stonn, and she would be free to choose another consort. Such was the beauty of cruelty tempered by logic.  
  
She glanced at the bed. Spock made no attempt to move or speak. He stared blankly at the ceiling. The weak mind-link between them told T’Pring only that he seemed resigned to his fate. He was preparing himself for the inevitable, his death at her hand.  
  
T’Pring savored her triumph.  
  
  
*******************************

  
Stonn was descending the stairs to the lower level when the access com chimed. He returned to the door and looked at the monitor. And recognized the human he saw there: James T. Kirk, Spock’s captain.  
  
Stonn voice-unlocked the door.  
  
“Stonn, please forgive the intrusion. Is T’Pring here?”  
  
“Yes,” Stonn didn't elaborate or make a move to let Kirk enter.  
  
“I need to speak with her. Immediately.”  
  
“How did you know we were here?”  
  
“Let’s just say, I have my sources.”  
  
“This is most unusual.” Stonn stared at Kirk coldly.  
  
“It is unusual, but necessary.” Kirk used his most authoritative voice. “I have had a communication from T’Pau, which requires me to speak with T’Pring.” That too was a half-lie, but he wasn’t about to split hairs.  
  
Stonn paused for a moment, sizing up the situation.  
  
“K’vath,” Stonn finally said, and stepped back. “Follow me.”  
  
In the interior of the formal entrance hall, Stonn motioned to Kirk; “Please remain here.”  
  
Stonn descended the stairs and walked down a long corridor that took him toward the sanctuary of the ‘rutter-eter-retter’.  
  
  
*******************************

  
T’Pring stood over Spock, the dagger poised in her left hand. The blow must wound deeply. It must enter between the ribs, sever the portal vein of the liver, then tear through the lining of the lungs. Death would follow quickly, but not too quickly. Spock’s chest would fill up with his own blood, and he would drown in it.  
  
Spock’s face was turned away. He waited, motionless. The both knew the dagger was in her hand, and that she would strike.  
  
There was a tap on the locked door.  
  
Gripping the knife, T’Pring leaned closer—too close—and thrust. But in that instant, Spock unexpectedly lurched to the side, whipping his head around and bringing his chin down hard. He caught the edge of her arm, deflecting the tip of razor-sharp blade. The dagger sliced across the top of his chest and caught on a rib. Then the momentum carried the blade farther, twisting it downwards into Spock’s lung before it bounced out of T’Pring’s hand, flew across the bed, and clattered on the floor.  
  
T’Pring’s eyes snapped open for a fleeting moment, betraying her shock and anger. She quickly circled the bed to retrieve the dagger  
  
The door unlocked—  
  
Swung open—  
  
Stonn stared speechless at the sight before him. Spock lay naked, restrained in the bed, his chest quickly turning verdant with blood. T’Pring, also naked, was bending down to pick up a bloody dagger.  
  
“Kroykah!” The word automatically left Stonn’s mouth with a shout, shocking even him.  
  
T’Pring froze for a brief moment, then continued to pick up the blade. “Stonn, you are early. Very well. It can be remedied.” She moved gracefully to the wall and pushed a button.  
  
Stonn hit the floor before he realized that a security beam hidden in the doorframe had knocked him out.  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
“Kroykah!”  
  
Kirk’s heart skipped a beat. Why had Stonn shouted? Vulcans didn’t yell unless something was terribly wrong. Kirk flew down the stairs three at time.  
  
At the bottom, he found a long, dark corridor with a door at the end that was slightly ajar. The dim light from within the room cast long shadows on the wall.  
  
Kirk quickly withdrew his phaser and edged softly towards the open door.  
  
Flinging himself into the room, Kirk instantly tripped over the body of Stonn lying on the floor. He steadied himself quickly, but not before he felt the sting of cold metal graze his back. He whirled to face the enemy.  
  
Before him stood T’Pring.  
  
She was naked and bloodstained, and she held a dagger that was pointed at him. She tensed, ready to spring again. He leveled his phaser at point blank range.  
  
It was set to kill.  
  
She hesitated, obviously calculating the odds of a successful attack. It would not come up in her favor, Kirk knew. He wondered if she would see that, or whether she was crazy enough to strike anyway.  
  
But clearly she saw the logic. Without a word, she let the blade slip from her fingers; it fell to the floor. She bowed her head and stepped back, away from the bed, revealing…  
  
Spock!  
  
Kirk's heart jumped in his throat.  
  
Spock lay completely still on the bed, and a large amount of blood was seeping from his chest. Rivulets of green ran down his side and onto the bed, soaking the sheets. He was strapped down, naked, and even in the dim light, he looked like death. What had this witch from hell done to him!?  
  
Kirk didn’t bother asking her. He immediately reached for his communicator and flipped it open.  
  
“Kirk to Enterprise.”  
  
“Bridge. Sulu here.”  
  
“ Lock onto my coordinates. Beam down a security team and Dr. McCoy and a medical team, pronto! Then contact Vulcan security, the Vulcan High Council, and have them transported here as well. Kirk out.”  
  
He moved quickly over to the bed, still keeping his phaser trained on T’Pring. Spock’s breathing was shallow and erratic, and a horrible rasping sound gurgled in his throat, but he was still alive. Kirk placed his hand on the gaping chest wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.  
  
“Spock. I’m here. Hold on. Please hold on...”  
  
There was no reaction. Spock was unconscious.  
  
Suddenly the room was full of noise and motion as Enterprise personnel materialized, including McCoy. With a wave of his phaser, Kirk signal security to take T’Pring into custody and remove her from the room.  
  
McCoy quickly joined Kirk by the bed.  
  
“Sweet Jesus,” McCoy exclaimed. “What the hell happened!?” Bones began to work on Spock as Kirk quickly removed the restraints.  
  
Suddenly—blood frothed from Spock’s month and ran down his chin. The rasp in his throat worsened, and he began gagging.  
  
“I’m losing him, Jim. He can’t breathe. His lung has collapsed and his chest is filling with blood. I have to get him to sickbay immediately.” McCoy flipped open his communicator and within moments, the doctor and Spock had been beamed up to the Enterprise.  
  
Kirk had desperately wanted to go with them, but knew he had to stay and inform the Vulcan authorities of what he had seen. They would have to piece together the rest.  
  
Stonn was coming around, attended by a medical officer. He wasn’t dead, only stunned.  
  
Kirk was so angry that he was almost shaking. // If Spock dies, the ordeal of kal-if-fee will look like a fucking picnic when I get done with that bitch. //  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Without immediate intervention, the high-tech equipment aboard the Enterprise, and the skillful, zealous surgery of Dr. McCoy, Kirk would have been standing beside Spock’s coffin rather than his bedside.  
  
McCoy had called the surgery successful, and yet for days, Spock lay unconscious, his vital signs slowly ebbing. Kirk spent every minute he could in sickbay.  
  
“Damn it, Bones. Why isn’t he responding?”  
  
“I don’t know. He should be improving. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to come out of this...”  
  
“He has to recover,” Kirk ran his fingers roughly through his hair.  
  
“I’ve done everything I can, Jim. It’s up to Spock now.”  
  
“Spock...” Kirk pleaded, clinging to Spock’s limp hand.  
  
“Jim, if you ask me, the fight has finally been knocked out of him. He’s lost his home on this ship and his career with Starfleet. He’s been humiliated, raped, and he almost died twice: first from the effects of pon farr and then at the hands of a sociopath.”  
  
Kirk couldn’t argue, he was too wracked with guilt. It was painfully clear that none of this would have happened if he hadn’t rejected Spock.  
  
When McCoy left, Kirk made one last attempt to reach Spock.  
  
Lifting Spock’s lifeless hand, Kirk held Spock’s fingers on his face, pressing them on the mind-meld points. Then Kirk pressed his own fingers to the meld points on Spock’s face. He had no idea if it would work but he had to try.  
  
He had nothing to lose—except a piece of his soul. If Spock died, an irreplaceable part of Kirk would die as well.  
  
  
*******************************  


Spock’s mind was a bottomless dark cavern. Occasionally streaks of light flashed in the distance, brightened, then dimmed, without pattern. The place was serene, tranquil and logical. Spock was safe here. He was at peace. He didn’t want to leave. Better to stay here in the darkness than return to a world of anguish and pain, an existence without hope or mercy.  
  
A stirring—  
  
Faint, gossamer—  
  
A delicate whisper of thought, beckoning...  
  
The thought was vaguely familiar...intimate...cherished.  
  
Jim’s voice called softly as if from a great distance. Spock’s t’hy’la was pleading with him, asking him to come back—to come home.  
  
Home?  
  
// Where are the stars, Jim? I cannot see them...they were so beautiful...//  
  
Elusive traces of emotion washed over Spock in a warm wave.  
  
// They are in your eyes, Spock, every time I look at you. //  
  
The waves of feeling enveloped him, and for the first time in his life, Spock felt acceptance, devotion…and love.  
  
// I need you, Spock; please don’t leave me...//  
  
Then the wave gently carried him toward the light...  
  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Kirk looked at the nameplate beside the door: First Officer, Commander Spock.  
  
He smiled. All was as it should be. He could hear the faint, melodic sound of music from within. He buzzed the com.  
  
“Enter,” came the familiar voice and the door instantly hissed open.  
  
Spock sat at his desk, his lyre propped against his chest. He immediately attempted to rise, but Kirk waved him back into his chair with a brilliant smile.  
  
“How are you doing?”  
  
“I am sufficiently recovered.” Spock put the instrument on the desk.  
  
“Good! For over a month, you’ve been just lying around, neglecting your responsibilities aboard this ship. You’re assigned back on full duty tomorrow, 06:00 hours. Sharp. And I don’t expect you to keep me waiting on the bridge.”  
  
“My time-sense is both accurate and extremely efficient. I fail to understand...”  
  
Kirk broke out laughing, “Just a joke, Spock!”  
  
“Ah, yes...a joke. One the many idiosyncrasies peculiar to your species.” But a faint smile flickered in Spock’s eyes.  
  
// God, how glad I am to have you back // Kirk thought. But a more serious concern weighed on his mind. He hesitated, not wishing to disturb the comfortable, amicable atmosphere. Spock perceived his indecisiveness immediately.  
  
“Jim?”  
  
Kirk stiffened his resolve.  
  
“Spock, I have received a special communication from T’Pau.”  
  
Spock’s eyes grew dark and his expression reserved. He rose slowly to his feet and clasped his hands behind his back.  
  
“Regarding T’Pring?”  
  
“She has been found guilty on all charges and has been sentenced. She will be sent to a high-security facility where they will attempt to rehabilitate her by restructuring her brain patterns. If she does not agree to treatment, she will remained locked up until the end of her days.”  
  
Spock exhaled slowly, nodded once, but said nothing.  
  
Kirk hesitated.  
  
“Please, continue.”  
  
“She was pregnant, but lost the child. A miscarriage.”  
  
Spock turned away as unaccustomed emotion rose to the surface. He would not forget what had happened, what T’Pring had done. But the child, their child, his child—was innocent, blameless.  
  
“Spock, are you all right?” Kirk didn’t know if he should express sympathy. The death of a child conceived by rape was a delicate subject.  
  
Kirk could hear Spock take a deep breath, then the Vulcan turned around.  
  
“It is finished. I would prefer not to speak of it again.”  
  
Kirk nodded. It was for the best.  
  
“I have a present for you...” Kirk said softly, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He held it for a moment before handing it to Spock.  
  
Spock took the gift and paused, waiting for an explanation.  
  
“Just open it."  
  
Spock broke the seal and removed the lid. Nestled in the deep blue velvet was a simple gold band.  
  
Spock stared intently at the token within. The gold glinted softly in the light, and he tentatively ran his thumb over the metal in a soft caress.  
  
“I realize you can’t actually wear it, because we must be discreet, but I wanted you to have it anyway. It’s an old Earth tradition, and it expresses everything I feel for you: who you are in my life and what you mean to me, now and in the future.”  
  
Spock swallowed hard. He was well aware of the symbolism of a Terran wedding band. “You consent to be my Adun-a?” The words were hardly more than a whisper.  
  
“‘Ah, e-c'-a ku-nat ang az-ir-kh'-ar' <Yes, I agree to marriage and our bonding>,” Kirk replied without hesitation. His pronunciation was perfect. He had prepared himself for this moment. He knew Spock would ask and he would honor the Vulcan with the ceremonial Vulcan reply.  
  
The mixture of surprise, pleasure and warmth in Spock’s eyes when he looked up was priceless.  
  
With great reverence, Spock slowly closed the lid of the box, and placed it on the table. In a low voice edged with deep emotion, he said simply, “I will treasure it.”  
  
Then he crossed the room and took Kirk into his arms. His lips sought Kirk’s with such unrestrained passion that Kirk’s knees buckled, and he pulled back slightly, breaking contact.  
  
“Spock, wait. Maybe we should take this slow...you’ve only just recuperated.”  
  
“I am well, Jim,” Spock whispered softly in his ear, sending shivers down Kirk’s spine. “Better than well...I am free of pon farr, but that does not mean that I am unable or unwilling...that I don’t desire...”  
  
But Kirk didn’t need words to convince him. He could feel Spock’s arousal pressing through his robe. He took the Vulcan’s hot face between his hands, looked deeply into his eyes and said, “Then what are we waiting for?”  
  
Spock swept Kirk up into his arms. He carried him into the sleeping area and gently placed him on the bed, looking down at him for a long moment. Then as he quietly voice-adjusted the lights to a faint glow and lowered the temperature to human tolerance, Spock toed his boots off, then he removed Kirk’s footwear.  
  
Spock’s uniform quickly followed, and in moments, he stood at the foot of the bed, naked. Even in the pale light, Kirk could see the dark scar that ran across Spock’s chest, but in time, it and the painful memories of T’Pring would fade.  
  
Kirk held out his arms, and recited a line from Spock’s journal; “My bright one, reach for me, for I am here.”  
  
Spock averted his eyes, as if he was suddenly ashamed.  
  
“Spock, what’s wrong?”  
  
“I should not have burdened you with my rambling...”  
  
"Shh," Kirk said tenderly. “You’ll never know how deeply your words touched me. Don’t you see, Spock—it opened my eyes to my own selfishness. Come to bed, love. We have seven hours before duty calls and I plan to spend every moment with you till then making up for lost time.”  
  
Spock took him in a tight embrace, holding him as though he would never let go. “Jim, you are my bright one. There can be no other.”  
  
Spock’s lips sought his, devouring him entirely, and they prolonged the kiss for a long time, simply holding each other, enjoying the sensation of open-mouthed kissing.  
  
Slowly, tentatively, Spock’s hands found their way to Kirk’s waist, to the edge of his shirt, and then they were slipping underneath, sending fiery shivers along Kirk’s skin. Spock’s hot fingers progressed up Kirk’s chest, and brushed across his nipples, instantly making them hard.  
  
Kirk reached down to undo his pants and found Spock’s hands already there, unfastening the catch. They opened the flap together and pushed the fabric down. Spock raised himself on one elbow and efficiently pulled the pants off and threw them aside.  
  
As he looked at Spock lying beside him, Kirk realized just how exquisite Spock was, with his chiseled, exotic features; his glossy hair; the wondrous scent of his skin; and the sculptured muscles of his strong, svelte frame.  
  
Spock’s immense erection didn’t frighten Kirk anymore; if Amanda could enjoy sex with Sarek, then Kirk didn’t need to fear sexual intercourse with Spock. Now, Kirk wanted that astonishing penis—wanted to feel it, taste it, he wanted it inside him, filling him. He wanted Spock in all his glory. And whatever his Vulcan lover wanted or needed from him, he would more than willingly give.  
  
“You are beautiful.” The words came as naturally as breathing.  
  
“As you are to me,” Spock replied softly.  
  
Kirk sat up and ran his hand along Spock’s face, then pulled him back down again. For the better part of an hour, they simply explored each other’s bodies: touching, tasting, stroking, and kissing every part.  
  
“I can’t wait any longer. I want you inside of me...” Kirk whispered urgently.  
  
Kirk was more than ready, and his body ached for release. But because Spock had been brutally abused, violated by T’Pring, Kirk would not breach Spock’s body. Kirk would not take this time, but give. And he’d give himself willingly.  
  
He rolled over onto his stomach, reached for a pillow, and pushed it under his hips so that they arched upwards. Then the softest, hottest, wettest tongue he had ever known slid over his backside and thighs. Spock’s soft deep sighs betrayed the Vulcan’s pleasure. They felt like small, sultry breezes against Kirk’s skin.  
  
“Jim…”  
  
“Hmmm.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“God, yes, I want you to fuck me now.”  
  
And when the moment came, Kirk wasn’t afraid. He could feel Spock’s fever-hot thighs on the back of his legs, and the strong, yet gentle, hands spreading his buttocks.  
  
Spock’s fingers gently applied something silky and wet along the fissure, touching him in that most intimate place: stroking it, caressing it, relaxing it. The stimulation was incredible, so much so that he couldn’t stop himself from pushing back into the Vulcan’s hand.  
  
Kirk eagerly anticipated what was to come. When Spock finally slipped a finger inside him, it made his erection throb and his balls tighten. Every leisurely thrust of that slippery digit drove him wild, causing him to moan uncontrollably. But when Spock withdrew, Kirk hiked his hips up, desperate for more.  
  
Firmly but gently, Spock pushed his rigid heat against Kirk. Instead of fighting the intense pressure, Jim remembered what Amanda had told him, and he opened himself completely. Spock stretched him so slowly that there was only one quick, shooting pain. Kirk automatically tensed, and a moan escaped his lips, but then the ache began to ease.  
  
“Jim?” Spock whispered, his voice shadowed with concerned. “Should I withdraw?”  
  
“No, don’t stop…don’t stop...”  
  
Kirk pushed back, hard, and suddenly, Spock was fully inside him.  
  
From that moment, there was only pleasure, tenderly given, then languidly withdrawn. Soon, Kirk’s hips were matching the rhythm of Spock’s thrusts; he hiked his hips further until he knelt up on the bed.  
  
The essence of Spock was everywhere:  
  
Outside; pleasuring him, expertly stroking his rock-hard erection,  
  
In his head; whispering passionate, erotic Vulcan words,  
  
Inside; smoothly sliding in and out until Kirk thought he would die from the sheer pleasure.  
  
Kirk hung on the edge for one last precious moment...unable to catch his breath…and Spock was with him, ready to take the plunge—  
  
Suddenly, Kirk felt the thick cock inside him surge and plunge deeply, and fill him utterly. Kirk climaxed instantly.  
  
Waves of excruciating pleasure shook Kirk so fiercely that he bit the pillow to muffle his groans, and he clutched the sheets in his fists to stop himself from thrashing about. Above him, Spock’s entire body went rigid—and a growl deep in the Vulcan’s chest rose to a full-throated cry of relief as he also orgasmed.  
  
Kirk could feel Spock’s cock pulsing with each powerful contraction. The intense ejaculations succeeded each other so rapidly that they blended into one long wave of sensation. Kirk and Spock collapsed on the bed, still entwined, the swollen double ridges of Spock’s penis locking them together.  
  
Finally, Spock’s spasms eased, his ejaculations slowed, and his climax ended with one last tremor.  
  
The smell of sex permeated the sheets, now wrinkled and damp with Kirk’s sweat, and he wanted to remain like this forever, with Spock’s hot body pressed against him, Spock’s penis inside of him, protected and safe in his strong embrace.  
  
But as soon as Spock was able to withdraw, he did so, and he gently rolled over. In the silence, they lay side-by-side, awed by the gift of pleasure and trust they had shared.  
  
At last, Spock said quietly, “Are you injured in any way?”  
  
Kirk smiled, “Just my pride. I didn’t last very long. You’re too damn good.”  
  
Spock lifted his head from the pillow and looked deeply into the hazel eyes.  
  
“I am first officer, Jim. I take all of my responsibilities seriously.” Then Spock did the most amazing thing. The corners of his mouth slowly rose upwards. It was a real, honest-to-goodness smile.  
  
Kirk burst out laughing. A joke? And a smile from Spock?  
  
“God, how I love you,” he whispered into a pointed ear, then he hugged his t’hy’la as tight as he could.


End file.
